


Ceart-leth

by MoNigheanDonn1743



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M, Outlander AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 11:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 95,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15684114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoNigheanDonn1743/pseuds/MoNigheanDonn1743
Summary: Twenty first century girl, Claire Beauchamp suddenly finds herself thrust back in time to 1743. How with Jamie cope with a modern day Claire? And what will happen when history has changed from what Claire expects? Ceart-leth is an AU of the Outlander story we all know and love turned completely on its butt.Creative license taken so be warned. :0)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was (and still is) posted on Tumblr but it was requested that I start posting here. I hope you enjoy. Please come and say hello and let me know what you think .

Chapter 1

A delicate shiver ran down her spine and she took a deep, shuddering breath, surrendering herself to the simple beauty of the moment. It’d been years since she’d seen anything so moving and she lost herself, swaying gently with the soft voices, as the sights, sounds and smells swirled around her.

Outwardly ignorant to all but their task, the Druid dancers twirled and dipped around each another, and the ancient stones of Craig na Dun. Their movements so elegant that they appeared almost weightless as they weaved their magic, hypnotising the small crowd that had gathered to watch.

Synchronised to the last, the dancers fanned out gracefully, forming two flawless semicircles around the centre stone and stopped. Their delicate silk gowns, fluttering softly in the early morning breeze, were suddenly the only thing that moved. Silence descended, and there was a moment of breathless anticipation before the caller stepped toward the cleft stone and, as one, the dancers raised their arms, offering their torches in thanks to the heavens. It was a breathtaking sight, but it was the caller herself that had Claires skin erupting in millions of tiny goosebumps.

Palms stretched, she placed them flat on the ground and rose slowly, gracefully, like a Phoenix rising from the flames, seeming to draw the sunrise up with her from the very centre of the earth. It burst in bright rays of red, pink and orange through the cleft in the centre stone, blinding Claire and dropping everything it touched into momentary shadow.

_How the hell did they time that so perfectly?_

A warm ripple of applause rose from the small crowd but she was still spell bound. Lost in a trance, the ambiance having drawn her in, luring her towards a distant time. A simpler time, when the pagan myths that surrounded the fairy hill, were held more in truth than legend.

She could picture the camp fires and the highlanders surrounding them, decked proudly in their clan colours, singing uproariously in Gaelic. She could smell the heavy peat smoke and almost taste the warm, smooth whiskey as it trickled down the back of her throat.

She sighed in longing. The ritual and her rudimentary imagination made her nostalgic for her own simpler time. Those unorthodox years of her upbringing, immersed within one tribe or another, in the far flung corners of the globe. She’d spent her childhood living off the land and absorbed in rich local cultures. She’d been fascinated by the telling of legends, sat surrounded by new friends, their own fire pits glowing as she listened to one story after another. She missed the simplicity of that life, and silently cursed her uncle Lamb, one again, for forcing her out into modern civilisation.

Who needs a university education when you’ve had the whole world as your own personal school room?

“Well there’s two hours sleep I’ll never get back.” She blinked, coming out of her daze, and turned to face Frank, a deep scowl etched on her beautiful face.

_Here we go again._

He’d moved from his own blanket to Claires, displacing Joe who had been sat beside her when they’d first settled down to watch. She shuffled further away from him.

“Nobody forced you to come,” she huffed, turning back to watch the dancers as they collected their belonging and merged seamlessly into the slowly retreating audience. “If you were that bored you could have gone back to the tents.”

She wanted to slip back into the moment. She’d been looking forward to this since she heard about the ritual months ago. In fact, her whole trip had been planned around it to ensure she was sat on this very hill at the dawn of the summer solstice. She would not let Frank Randell spoil it for her.

“I never said I was bored, I just don’t understand your fascination with this kind of…stuff.”

“How can you specialise in Scottish history and not appreciate folklore? The highlands were a breeding ground for superstition and legends, the two practically go hand in hand.” Joe argued as he pulled Gail between his legs and wrapped his arms around her.

Claire sighed and closed her eyes. This argument had come up more than once during their three week trip through the highlands and, like Frank himself, it was grating on her last nerve. How she was going to survive another two weeks without drowning him in a loch she’ll never know.

“I disagree,” Frank retorted hotly, “The history of the clans, the Jacobite armies, the annihilation of the Scottish way of life. They happened, they were real. Water horses and selkies and Godforsaken fairy hills were not.”

She growled low in her throat and scrambled to her feet. The bloody ignorant bastard was determined to ruin it for her, and though usually even tempered, she’d had enough. Giving her tartan blanket a swift tug, she pulled it from beneath Frank and snapped it through the air before bending to roll it up. The gradual slope of the hill had aided her attempt to displace him, and he toppled sideways onto the grass.

_Serves him right._

_Dickhead._

“To the people that lived in the highlands, those stories were as real as the barley growing in their fields. Most of them never travelled further than a days walk from their homes. They knew nothing of the world, folklore practically shaped their way of life, Frank. Jesus, I’ve never known a historian to be so bloody narrow minded!” She snapped finally loosing her patience.

“And I’ve never known a medical student to be so whimsical!” He snapped back as he stood and dusted the grass of his jeans.

“Whimsical?” She hissed, furiously. “Taking an interest and understanding local custom and cultures is not whimsical, it’s respectful. Disregarding them, on the other hand, is the height of ignorance and _dis_ respect. If I expect to practice medicine in third work countries, where superstitious still runs rife, I think it’s more wise than whimsical to have a basic understanding of their beliefs.”

“Well said, LJ,” Joe nodded rolling his eyes as Frank threw his arms in the air and stormed off toward their camping ground.

“I don’t know why he even bothered coming on this trip at all. It’s not like he hasn’t toured Scotland before, and he knew full well we’d be visiting cultural sites as well as heritage.” She complained as she sank down against one of the outer stones, all the fight leaving her.

She was close to tears. Was it too much to ask for one day without being subjected to his…his…

“We all know why he came, LJ and it has nothing to do with his history major.” Gail whispered sympathetically.

“Ugh!” Claire buried her hand in her hands, and Joe laughed as he nudged her playfully with his shoulder. “As much as he likes to argue the contrary, he’s not in love with me. There’s nothing about me that he wouldn’t change given half the chance. That’s not love.”

“No, it’s not,” Joe sighed, tightening his grip on Gail. He knew first hand what love was, and Claire was right. Frank was obsessed with her, not in love.“Frank’s a good guy, and when he’s not being an ass, he’s a good friend. But he’s not the guy for you LJ. He’d suffocate you.”

“I know,” She agreed, raising her head to look at him, “and he’s starting to give me the creeps. I swear he was watching me when I was washing yesterday.” Joes eyebrows shot up and he cast a murderous glance at Franks retreating form.

“Do you want me to talk to him for you?” He growled, his teeth set on edge.

“No. I’m going to use the stream on the other side of the hill, if you wouldn’t mind keeping him occupied. I only managed to wash my extremities yesterday.” Joe looked from her stuffed rucksack to the last remaining spectators and it was Claires turn to roll her eyes. “I’ll wait until everyone’s gone.”

“Okay. Gail wanted to hike into Inverness for some essentials, I’ll drag him with us if you’ll be alright up here on your own?”

“I’ll be fine, thanks Joe, I really appreciate it.” She reached over and squeezed his arm in reassurance.

The truth was, she’d be more than fine. Living a mostly solitary existence, she was used to being on her own. After living in such close quarters with three other people for the last few weeks she was almost itching for some peace and quiet.

“Are you coming back down to the camp first?” Gail asked, though she already knew the answer. Claire was in her element out here in the wilderness, like a caged bird who’d spread their wings for the first time. She’d never known her to be so content, and she hadn’t noticed until this trip just how out of place Claire was in a bustling city.

She was a feminine version of Bear Grylls, completely at one with nature.

“No, I want to explore the stones, I’ll go back to camp after I’ve cleaned up.”

Gail smiled and, wiggling out of Joes grasp, she pushed to her feet and offered him a hand to help him raise.

“Come on, lets leave Claire in peace and go deal with our misguided Casanova.”

Claire laughed and accepted Joes brief kiss on her cheek before watching her two closest friends wander away. Hands linked and swinging softly between then, they whispered and laughed as they walked idly down the side of the hill. She let out a sigh before quickly pulling out her phone and snapping a candid picture of the pair.

Joe and Gail were soul mates. They’d grown up in the same small town in Boston, but hadn’t met until they moved to Oxfordshire and walked into the same pre med classroom at oxford university. It was almost love at first sight and they’d been together ever since.

While not altogether envious, Claire couldn’t help a small wistful prang. She’d dated a few guys since her return to civilisation seven years ago, but not one had lasted past a couple of stilted dates and awkward goodnight kisses. She never experienced the excitement or the nervous butterflies she’d read about, or seen first hand with Gail, and she was starting to wonder whether she was destined to spend her whole life alone.

Shaking off her moroseness she put her phone away, spread out her blanket again and lay back. It was still early, really early, and she had hours to kill before anyone would expect her back at camp.

Taking a deep breath, she let herself relax. She hadn’t really stopped for months. With her placement at the hospital, end of year exams, planning the trip, and spending the past three weeks touring one historical site after another, she was exhausted. Yes, they took breaks during the day, but there was conversation and games, plans to make and supply trips to complete. Not to mention Franks unerring advances to thwart. This was the first chance she’d had to really be alone and she basked in it.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, her eyes drifted closed. She wasn’t sleeping, not really. She just drifted from one light doze to the next allowing the stillness of the day to completely wash over her. When she felt the gnawing pangs of hunger, she pulled a granola bar out of her bag and sat up to take in the view. It was so beautiful out here, the only signs of human life, being the electric pylons that scarred the mountainsides.

Part of her dreaded going back to Oxfordshire, and if it wasn’t for her desperate need to be of aid to some of the communities she’s spent her childhood amongst, she’d be tempted to disappear back into the wilderness.  
Sighing, she shoved her empty wrapper back in to her bag, rolled up her blanket, attached it to the bottom of her rucksack and pushed to her feet. She wanted to take in as much of the stone circle as she could before it became too hot and it was already almost eleven o’clock.

They hadn’t anticipated a rare British heatwave when they planned this trip, and with the afternoons being too hot and humid to do more than vegetate beside a river or loch, they were cramming in as much sight seeing as they could in the early mornings.

Hiking her heavy pack onto her shoulders she moved around the outer edge of the circle, studying the formation with awe. She’d seen her fair share of stone circles, but there was just something about the massive granite rocks of Craig na Dun.

They called to her somehow.

They were more rustic then any she’d seen before, almost as if they’d stood there for as long as time itself. It was easy to see why the highlanders of old thought it a portal for fae and other mythical creatures. There was definitely a magical element to the place.

Gently, as though it might crumble beneath her touch, she ran her fingers across the first stone. Despite the warm weather, it was icy to the touch and she shivered in response. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling and she sought it out again and again as she moved from one stone to the next, examining, touching, admiring.

To an outside observer she would have appeared as though she was lost in a world of her own, but she was very much present, taking in every scar and crevice of the ancient granite.

They were magnificent.

A welcome, cool summer breeze picked up as she moved within the circle and the air seemed to hum at a pitch just out of hearing range, but she could feel it. It vibrated through the very marrow of her bones drawing her towards the centre stone. She raised one tentative hand, then the other, almost afraid to touch it, but powerless to stop herself.

As her palms made contact, one on either side of the cleft, the stone screamed. It was a heart wrenching scream of unimaginable agony, that burned through her like wildfire, incinerating everything in its path. It was as though she could feel the exact moment that the ancient granite was ripped apart and now the same forces were attempting to sever her soul, to consume it, to destroy it.

She was paralysed with fear. Everything she’d known, everything she was, everything she could be, was slowly being consumed by the flames. Everything was gone, there was no anchor to tether her to the earth. No point of light drawing her to safety. No home or love or dreams to fight for. She was truly alone, free falling into the abyss and, helpless, she surrendered and let the darkness take her.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

She awoke with a start, her heart thumping wildly and her whole body shaking with fear. She’d never been so afraid in her life and the adrenaline rushing through her system had her pinned to the ground, her reflexes stuck somewhere between fight or flight. She had no idea where she was, or what had happened, and her mind was too consumed with panic to concentrate, or to hold on to a thought for more than a second.

_Jesus Christ! What the fuck just happened?_

She blinked, trying to clear her vision as her eyes moved frantically around, searching for danger, or help, or answers: she wasn’t sure which. Blinded by the tears that streamed down her face, she couldn’t see anything and she swiped at them with trembling hands.

_Where was she?_

The place was deserted, but as her eyes moved from one standing stone to the next, her vision cleared, and the haze slowly began to lift from her mind.

She was on the fairy hill at Craig na Dun.

_Shit!_

With that knowledge, the rest came flooding back and, as her terror spiked, she scrambled to her feet and slowly backed away from the cleft stone. It was a dream, it had to be, there was no other logical explanation; stones don’t scream, and the vibrating hum that had drawn her in had vanished completely. But the sheer terror of the nightmare still hovered around her like a dense fog, and she knew that if she closed her eyes now she’d slip right back into it.

It was all so real.

A wave of nausea rushed through her and she doubled over, bracing her hands on her knees as she coughed and heaved. There was nothing but the small granola bar in her stomach, but it came up with an alarming amount of bright yellow bile.

Dropping to her knees she crawled across the grass, only going far enough to reach for her rucksack, before scooting back away from the stone…and the vomit. She needed water, otherwise she would have left it there for Joe to retrieve later.

_Joe._

Joe and Gail were something else she needed. She wasn’t the type of girl to ever need anybody. She was strong, independent, and proud. She was also still terrified, and for the first time in her life she did need someone.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath she unzipped her rucksack with trembling fingers and reached in for the water and her phone. With acid still burning the back of her throat, the water was the most pressing need and she quickly uncapped the bottle and downed half of its content without taking a breath.

She was in shock, she knew that, and with shock comes thirst so she kept the bottle out as she fumbled with her phone. She wanted to cry when she saw the _no service_ message in the corner of her screen, but she still tried every trick she knew to get at least one bar. It wouldn’t be enough for a call, but she could text him an SOS.

She screamed in frustration and threw her phone back in her bag. Nothing. She’d have to wait until she had enough sense and strength to make it back to camp on her own. Letting herself fall back onto her bum, she reached for the water again, and as she drank, she finally found courage to look up at the stone.

She shivered and moved back again, putting as much distance as she could between her and her worst nightmare. Dream or not, she she didn’t want to be anywhere near it. But that didn’t stop her staring.

In the grey light of the late morning, with the soft song of the birds nesting in the trees, and the gentle tricking of a distant stream, the stone lost some of its infamy.

It was just a rock, nothing more, and unless it suddenly toppled over and squished her, it really couldn’t do her any harm. Yet, she could still hear it screaming somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind. She could still sense the destruction, and feel the darkness clawing at her soul.

She sighed and looked away. Shock still had her in its grasp, she needed to calm down, and she needed food to bring her sugar levels back up. As she reached into her rucksack for a granola bar, she found the wrapper of the one she’d eaten earlier, and subsequently thrown up.

She froze.

She’d eaten it _after_ she woke up, and _before_ she went to look at the stones. So, at what point had she fallen asleep again? She’d thought her whole exploration of the circle was part of her dream: but obviously not. Unless she was still dreaming, there was evidence to the contrary just a few feet away in the grass. As cliché as it was, she reached over and pinched her arm sharply. It hurt, and she could see the tiny crescent moons where her nails had dug into her skin.

_Not still dreaming then._

She was confused, and frustration bubbled up in the pit of her stomach as she glanced back at the offending stone.

“Get a grip, Beauchamp, it was just a bloody dream!” She growled.

Pushing to her feet, she marched up to the rock and, before she could talk herself out of it, she slapped hands against the freezing granite.

“See, nothing!” She huffed, backing away regardless of her self assurance. “Just a rock.”

Her heart was hammering again but she could feel herself calming now that she’d confronted her fear. With a hesitant step, and then another she approached it again and reached out a hand. The granite was cold, rough and thankfully silent as she brushed her shaking fingers against it.

“It’s just a rock.” She whispered as she placed both palms flat on either side of the crevice…just as she had before. “Just a rock.”

Taking a deep breath, she slowly removed her hands and turned her back on the stone. Craig na Dun had been the highlight of her trip, the one place she was looking forward to seeing the most, but now she couldn’t wait to leave the place.

They had planned on camping here one more night before heading toward Wentworth Prison tomorrow. But when her friends got back from Inverness she’d suggest packing up the camper van and heading out tonight. The thought of sleeping anywhere near them again was enough to send a fresh ripple of fear down her spine.

She still needed to bathe, and despite her desperate need to flee this place, she’d rather do it here, now, while Frank was busy in Inverness with Joe and Gail. She was more freaked out by his perverted stalking than she was her nightmare.

After shoving her water bottle back in her bag, she grabbed her AirPods and slipped one in her ear. She needed the distraction that music would bring, but she was still wary and needed one ear free to listen for approaching footsteps…or screaming stones.

Searching for something to lighten her mood she flipped through her playlist and settled on _Feel it Still_. Hitching her bag up on to her shoulders, she tuned and left the stone circle.

The day was a lot cooler than it had promised to be, than it had been for a while actually, and thick patches of cloud covered the sun as she made her way down the far side of the hill toward the stream. It surprised her, both because she hadn’t noticed, and because the forecast had been for twenty eight degrees and clear blue skies. It couldn’t be more than twenty now, and the clouds looked threatening.

_Bloody British weather, it never does what it’s supposed to._

The stream was further away than she remembered, but she’d chosen it for the privacy it offered, and for the beautiful waterfall she intended to use as a shower. Besides, the hike helped to calm the rest of her nerves and by the time she made it to its rocky banks, she was smiling and singing along to ABBA. Her nightmare all but forgotten.

Even with the rushing sound of the falls, the waters edge was as peaceful as it was beautiful. She smiled and, eager to get in the water, quickly removed her AirPod and stripped down to her bikini and jelly shoes. Folding her dress up, she placed it next to her bag, grabbed her wash bag and waded into the icy water. It took her breath away, and with the loss of the sun, she’d freeze if she stayed in it too long, but after so many hot, sticky, dusty days, it was heaven.

Pulling the bobble out of her hair, she shook it loose and let it fall in long waves down her back, before stepping under the spray. The freezing water cascaded over her and she laughed, trying to hold herself in place as all of her muscles contracted.

It was so cold it was painful, but it was these simple moments that she missed the most living within civilisation.

Modern conveniences like hot running water, TV and microwaves were still luxuries to a girl that had grown up cooking food by a fire, and bathing in rivers. But they were luxuries she could happily live without. After all, hypothermia or not, she didn’t have a view like this from her bathroom window.

Rushing as she was to got done before her fingers and toes started falling off, it didn’t take her long to wash her hair and body, shave her legs and brush her teeth. When her teeth started to chatter and she could no longer feel her legs, she carefully made her way back to shore.

The sun was just peeking out from behind a cloud and, deciding that it would stay that way for awhile, she wrapped herself in a towel, spread out her blanket, and sat down on the bank of the river. Despite her turbulent morning she felt more at peace than she had for sometime. She felt at one with herself and could have quite happily stayed there forever. But she was cold so she moved to her knees and reached in to her bag to pull out her clothes.

As she shook out her long gypsy skirt, a small slip of paper fluttered to the floor and she quickly grabbed for it before the breeze could send it down river.

_LJ,_

_Check your email._

_J_

She frowned. Why on earth would Joe want her to check her email? He’d been with her when she’d checked it yesterday and she had nothing but a shit load of spam.

Folding the paper, she slipped it back in her bag before quickly dressing, grabbing her phone and settling back on to her blanket. She still had no service, so if he’d sent the email recently she wouldn’t have received it.

Opening her email, she saw his name in bold at the top of the screen, and the message he’d sent at four AM this morning. They’d been on the hill by that time, watching the dancers call in the dawn. Why didn’t he just speak to her when they’d finished?

_Maybe it’s photographs?_

With a shrug, and a strange feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach, she opened the email.

_Lady Jane,_

_I knew, long before I met you, that I would one day be sat writing this letter, yet I still don’t know how to say what I need to. I can almost hear you cursing me out in your head, and see the little crease between your eyebrows, while you sit trying to puzzle out what I could possibly have to say._

_Keep your mind and heart wide open, LJ because as much as pains me to say, and as unbelievable as it may seem to me in this moment, this will be harder for you to read and understand, than it will be for me to explain._

_You’re not in Kansas anymore, little lady._

_As you know from the many hours we’ve spent talking of everything and nothing at all, my mothers family hails from Scotland. As you also know, the Scottish people have a gift for telling stories, and you’ve heard a few from me yourself over the years._

_There’s one story that was passed through our family, from one generation to the next, until it was passed to me: it’s intended recipient. As children we were each sworn to secrecy as we were told the tale, and handed aged diaries and tiny portraits._

_As every rational man would (or woman I hear you scream) I took the stories with a grain of salt. Yet when offered the chance to study at Oxford I began to wonder…could it be true?_

_Then you walked into the auditorium and I knew._

_It was all true._

_I knew all about your life before we even spoke. I knew that we would become friends. I knew things that would happen in the years that followed, and I know things that have yet to come to pass._

_For you at least._

_I know all of those things because I read them in your diaries. The diaries of my great-grandmother seven times over._

_Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp…although Beauchamp was not your surname when you wrote them._

_And no, I won’t tell you what is was. That’s for you to find out for yourself._

_So, by now you think I’m stark raving mad and you’re ready to stomp back to camp and throw your phone at my head. If you do, and I’m there, I will gladly take any punishment you dish out and be grateful to still have you in my life. But I’m not there, LJ…or rather I am, but you’re not._

_I’m writing this as I sit just behind you, watching the druids dance. You’re lost in the moment and you’ve never looked so lovely. But a few hours from now, when the dancers leave and Gail and I follow Frank back to the camp, you’ll touch the centre stone and your life will change forever._

_No, Claire, it wasn’t a dream…and no, you’re not still dreaming now._

_You know the story of the woman of Balnain, I’ve told it to you many times. What I didn’t tell you was that the story was about you._

_When you touched that stone you travelled back in time to 1743. I could have told you about this so many times, I could have shown you the diaries and the miniature portrait I have of you. I still could as I sit here now. But I didn’t, and I won’t, because 1743 is where you’re supposed to be._

_I know this because you told us._

_And I would cease to exist if I told you and you chose not to go. (A thought that completely blows my mind)._

_You know, you wrote those diaries as a way to let me know that you were okay. To make sure that on that day, the 21st June 2018, I would know that you hadn’t just disappeared. That you hadn’t been kidnapped or murdered. That you were safe and happy where you were._

_You had no idea then that you were talking to your great great great great great great great grandson. Well now you do, I hope it doesn’t change what you had to say._

_I considered not sending you this email. Knowing what you now know may change my history, and your future, but it was a risk I had to take. There is no way that I could let you go without saying goodbye. You’ve told me goodbye a hundred different ways through your diaries, and this was my chance to do the same._

_My life has been so much better for having known you. You are everything I hoped you would be and so much more. It has been an honour and a privilege to have been your friend, colleague and confidant._

_I’m sorry I can’t tell you anything that will come to pass, I can’t risk changing more than I may already have. But know that, although there will be hardships, there will be more than enough love to see you through._

_Just trust in the man that saves you, and all will be as it should._

_I’ll miss you more than you know._

_Love_

_Your friend and grandson_

_Joe._

_P.S. I probably shouldn’t have, but knowing the things I do, I put together a kit of sorts for you. It’s in the compartment at the bottom of your rucksack and in various other pockets. Use it wisely: it’s all you have. Just remember you can’t save the world, but you can save your family. You’re in a different time, people die of diseases we can cure now. As hard as it will be, you need to remember that._

_They still burn witches at the stake, you know!_

She read the email three time before she shoved her phone back in her bag and wrapped the blanket tight around her shoulders. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

His sentiments were touching, but as for the rest? It was the biggest load of shite she’d ever read! Did he really expect her to believe that she’d travelled back in time? Or that he was her grandson?

Seven times removed at that!

He was right about one thing though. When she got back to camp, she was going to throttle him!

_He was right about something else too._

How the hell did he know about her dream?

She shivered, but before she could give it anymore thought, she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned to face her intruder. When her eyes met those of Frank Randell, dressed in full eighteenth century regimental, she finally lost it.

She wasn’t humoured or moved. She was pissed. Really, really pissed!

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” She snapped, jumping to her feet and marching up to him, the blanket still wrapped tightly around her. “You pair of absolute fucking wankers! Do you think this is funny, Randell? Because I sure as hell don’t!”

It was bad enough that Joe had sent her the email. But to bring Frank in on it, and to have him stalk her to the stream dressed like a tosser? That was going too far. Joe knows exactly what she thinks about Frank, and she couldn’t believe he’d do this to her.

“I assure you, madam I find no humour in this whatsoever. But I am intrigued. You’ve the voice of a lady, an English one at that, yet the language of a whore. Which might you be I wonder?” He sneered as he closed the small gap between them.

She growled low in the back of her throat and shoved him away from her has hard as she could. Not only did he smell of sweat and rotting teeth, but for the first time, she was genuinely afraid of Frank Randell.

There was something different about him, something sinister that she’d never noticed before, and it scared her.

He staggered backward on the rocks, but surprisingly kept his footing and quickly snatched her wrist in an iron grasp before she blink.

“A whore then.” He smirked, dragging her toward him. She stumbled and landed face first against his chest where he locked her in place; her heart pounding and body her shaking uncontrollably.

_What the hell is going on?_

“Let go of me! Right now! This isn’t funny!” She screamed as she struggled violently against his hold and tried to get a knee to his balls. But he simply spun her around and locked her back tightly against his chest.

“Funny, no. But I find that I’ve not had this much fun in weeks. Now be a good girl, and keep still.” The cold metal of a blade, held flat against her throat, had her freezing in place. “Now I have your attention, I want your name.”

“You know my name you fucking bastard. Now let me go!”

“Tut, tut.” He hissed menacingly as he slowly pressed the knife tighter against her. She cried out in pain as the blade cut into the soft skin of her throat and she thought she might be sick. “Your name.”

_He cut her! He fucking cut her!_

She was frozen in abject horror, and everything she knew about self defence simply vanished. She was helpless and terrified at the hands of a man she’d called friend. This wasn’t a prank, it had gone to far, and if she made it out of it alive she was done.

With all of them.

“Claire.”

“Claire what?”

“Claire Beauchamp.” She stuttered. “Now please, let me go. You’ve had your fun, now just pack it in. You’re scaring me.”

“Do as the lady asks, Randell, before I stick ye like a pig.”


	3. Chapter 3

Franks whole body went ridged behind her and hers unconsciously mirrored his. Her mind was too full of fear to even begin to wonder what was happening, but a small spark of hope burned to life. This could be her chance to run, and she took a deep breath, preparing herself as she tried to listen past the sound of her own heart thundering in her head.

There was no sound save for rushing water and Franks ragged breathing beside her ear. Even the birds seems to have fallen silent in anticipation. The arm that still locked her against him, tightened and she winced. It was like an iron band across her chest, restricting her breathing. She couldn’t move an inch.

“Dinna test me, Randell I’m no’ in a forgivin’ mood.” The ice, barely contained in that deep Scottish voice, sent a new shiver of fear down her spine.

Foolishly, there’d still been a small part of her that hoped this was all some elaborate prank. That Joe would appear suddenly to rescue the damsel in distress. But unless he was playing the convincing part of highlander, this wasn’t Joe.

_So who the hell is it?_

She was confused, terrified and, with no one else around, she was completely at the mercy of these two men. She knew how to defend herself, Joe had made sure of that, but in the state she was in, her mind had gone completely blank.

_Just trust in the man that saves you, and all will be as it should._

Joes words came back to her, but before she had time to really consider them, Franks hand shot up and wrapped tightly around her throat. She gasped silently as her airway was all but crushed, and then she was dragged around, blade piercing her side, and her nails clawing, desperately, at his hand.

“Ah, if it isn’t the young fox cub.” Frank spat, his voice full of false bravado. “How’s my masterpiece looking these days? I’ve dreamt about it often, you know. As I’m sure you must have, too.”

With her equilibrium shattered, it took Claire a moment to focus, but when she could, she raised her pleading, water logged eyes up to the newcomer. She wasn’t sure who, or what, she was expecting to see, but it wasn’t this, it wasn’t him.

He was huge!

He towered over them both, her by a good foot at least. He was broad, muscular, and seething with anger. Like Frank, he was dressed, from head to toe, in an authentic, weather worn, eighteenth century highlander costume. His bright red hair blew softly in the breeze, framing startling, murderous, blue eyes, and what air she could still breathe, got stuck in her throat.

_Jesus fucking Christ!_

She was the only thing that stood between Frank, and the long, sharp, terrifying broadsword he aimed directly at them.

_Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place._

His jaw twitched, but he remained silent as he took a small step towards them. Frank stepped back in response, dragging her with him, and flexed his fingers around her throat.

“I’ll kill her.”

“I dinna think ye will. For the second ye do, I’ll cut ye black heart out where ye stand.” He burred, his voice soft, calm and deadly. “Release the lass, and I might just let ye live.”

As unbelievable as this whole situation was, she believed him. To an extent. Because whether she was in the way or not, Frank was a dead man. Even if he had to go through her to get to him.

In that moment, she hated Frank more than she’d ever hated anyone, or anything, in her life, but she didn’t want him dead. Not really. Yet, unless she did something, that was exactly what was going to happen. She needed to get out of this. She needed to free herself, get back to the camp, call the police, and have serious words with Joe.

She took a wheezing breath, then another, braced her knees, reached between their bodies and grabbed his balls as hard as she could.

Frank screamed like a girl and doubled over, releasing her as he did. Air rushed painfully into her lungs, but she turned quickly, grabbed his greasy hair and brought her knee up with a satisfying crunch against his nose.

Blood spurted out, and he fell back onto the ground, clutching at his face. She staggered sideways, away from them both, but she was shaking so much with fear and adrenaline that her knees almost gave way.

“You bitch!” Frank roared, still clutching his face and balls, as he writhed on the grass like the pathetic parasite he was.

“Fuck you, Randell!” She screamed back, forgetting her plan to run, as she threw herself on the ground beside him, her tiny fists falling against him time and time again, “You cock sucking, bastard, son of a bitch! I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, I HATE YOU!”

“Easy, lass.” The Scot warned as he grabbed her around her waist and lifted her easily, arms and legs flailing, and moved her a few feet away.

“Get _off_ me!”

“I mean ye no harm, Sassenach. Sheath ye claws.” He soothed, placing her feet on the ground and stepping around her. She looked up at him, breathing hard and watching him warily as he backed away a few feet to give her some room to breathe. She was grateful. Even in the wide open space she was feeling suffocated.

He was watching her just as closely but she could tell that most of his attention was for Frank, who still lay on the ground behind her. He was alert, with one hand hovering over the dirk in his belt, like a cobra ready to strike at a moments notice.

She needed to leave.

Now.

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, only to open it again. But her mind was blank, and the adrenaline she’d been relying on was quickly leaving her system. She drew a deep breath, then another, and another, while her eyes moved quickly from him, to her bag, to the path in the woods.

“You won’t hurt me? You’ll let me go?” She stuttered, backing further away from him. She wanted to grab her bag and run, but it would slow her down, and she wouldn’t risk going so close to him to get it.

He followed her gaze and upon seeing her bag, he frowned and moved to retrieve it.

She took another step back.

“Nay, Lass.” He murmured softly, holding the bag up, still frowning at it. “Ye needn’t be scairt of me. Though from the look of it, t’is I as should be scairt of ye.”

He looked over at her and gestured towards Frank with his chin, his full lips twitching a little at the corner. She didn’t dare follow his gaze, he was already walking towards her, and it was taking all her strength not to just turn and flee. He stopped a few feet away and held out her bag.

Half expecting him to drop it and snatch her up instead, it took her a moment to build up the courage to reach out and take it. He released it into her hands and stepped back once again. He was treating her like a startled animal, with his calm voice, and slow movements, and it went a long way to help calm her.

“Thank you.” She whispered, grateful. In her weakened state, the bag was heavy, but she heaved it onto her shoulders as she backed further away from him. “Will you kill him?”

She blanched at her own words and cast a quick glance at Frank. He’d attacked her, cut her, and threatened her life, but she couldn’t leave him here to be murdered in cold blood. The man made a deep, Scottish noise in the back of his throat and shook his head regretfully.

“No. He’s got more than his crimes against us to answer for, Sassenach. He’ll be dealt wit’ within the law.”

She nodded. She had no choice but to believe him, and even if she didn’t, what could she do? Fighting off Frank was one thing, but if he turned on her, she’d stand no chance against the massive Scot. What she needed to do was leave this place as quickly as she could, get back to camp, and call the police.

Like on those mornings, when you drive to work half asleep, and wonder whether the traffic light you just went through was on red or green. She suddenly found herself at the foot of Craig na Dun with nothing but a fleeting memory of how she’d got there.

She was on auto pilot, too scared and confused to allow herself to stop or to think. Her only recollection was of checking every few feet to make sure she wasn’t being followed. Even now, as she look up the hill towards the stones that still terrified her, she didn’t stop.

She could have gone around the hill, but she didn’t want to chance getting lost. She knew how to get to the camp this way, so putting one foot in front of the other, she marched up the hill around the stones and down the other side.

When she got to the place where the road should be she stopped and looked around. She was in the right place, she knew she was.

And yet, she wasn’t.

_What the fuck?_

The hills and mountains in the distance were exactly the same. She’d sat by a stream, the very one she could see in the distance, looking up at them just yesterday. But where the road had stood, there was nothing but fields and trees and a run down cottage.

She turned and looked up at the fairy hill. It was no use, as much as she didn’t want to, she’d have to go back up there. She needed a better vantage point to get her bearings.

Retracing her steps, she climbed back up the hill, dropped her bag, and looked around. It was too much, she just couldn’t take anymore. Between her dream, the email from Joe, Frank, the highlander and now this? All the terror and confusion, the pain and the loneliness washed over her she suddenly crumpled to the ground and burst into tears.

The wracking sobs shook her violently, but she gave into them and cried harder than she ever had before. Everything was gone. Roads, streetlights, cars, they were all gone. There was no campsite in the distance, no pylons scaring the mountains, no bustling city on the banks of the river Ness.

What she _could_ see of Inverness was nothing but a small scattering of buildings, no bigger than a town.

She was too scared to admit, even to herself, that Joe had been right. It didn’t make sense, it was impossible and yet, what other explanation was there? Cities and roads and people didn’t just disappear.

But apparently, _she_ had.

_You’re not in Kansas anymore, little lady._

Scrambling to her hands and knees, and still choking in her own sobs, she crawled over to the centre stone and slapped her hands against it, over and over again.

“Let me back!” She cried, grasping the granite and pulling herself to her feet. “Let me back! Let. Me. Back. You bastard! I don’t belong here!”

_1743 is where you’re supposed to be._

_I know this because you told us._

“Joe, you son of a bitch!”

Staggering backwards away from the stone, she moved to the outer circle. Going from one stone to the next, she touched them, repeating her movements from that morning, before slowly stepping back toward the centre, arms outstretched. There was no hum, no wind, and as she placed her palms beside the cleft once again, nothing happened.

“FUCK!”

Pushing herself away, she sank down on the grass beside her bag and pulled out her phone. It shook in her hands as she opened her email and reread the letter from Joe. Each time she got to the end, she started again, swiping angrily at her eyes every time the words started to blur.

She had no idea how long she sat there, but as her mind stared to clear, she replayed the whole morning through her mind. If she hadn’t been in 2018 since she touched the stone, it hadn’t been Frank that attacked her.

The small differences in him that she’d failed to notice before, suddenly became all too clear. His hair for one had been long, his face lined and leathery and his teeth rotting.

No, it wasn’t Frank. But the Scot had called him Randell. A relative then? Black Jack maybe? If she really was in 1743, the place and timing fit.

Even thinking that made her feel crazy. Maybe she was? Maybe she’d banged her head and she was in some strange coma dream? That would explain why the redcoat looked so much like Frank. You can’t make up faces in your dreams, you only dream of people you’ve seen in real life.

But that didn’t explain the Scot. She’d _never_ seen him before, of that she was positive. No woman in her right mind would see a face like _that_ and forget it.

She dropped her phone into her lap and scrubbed at her face. Her rational mind was still at war with what her eyes could clearly see. But If she really had travelled back in time, and it was a big if, she needed a plan.

_Just trust in the man that saves you, and all will be as it should._

If Joe had been referring to the Scot, she hadn’t trusted him, she’d run, and now she was sat at the top of the stupid fucking fairy hill alone. No friends, no family, no home.

_So what have I got?_

Attempting to push down the rising panic, she opened the main compartment of her bag and began to empty it.

On the top were the things she’d placed there last night, and used this morning. The dress she’d worn, her towel, wash bag, AirPods and cardigan. She’d left her tartan blanket by the stream so she shrugged on her cardigan, spread her dress out on the grass and placed each item on it.

Next was her underwear. Knickers, bras, socks and a couple more vest tops. Below those was a small box and she pulled it out frowning, before carefully removing the lid. Twenty small glass vials glinted back at her in the late afternoon sun and, with shaking fingers, she pulled one out.

“Jesus Christ, Joe!” She moaned as she placed the vial back, closed the lid and placed the box gently on her dress.

There was eight small boxes altogether, each one containing twenty vials of various vaccinations. From smallpox to typhoid, tetanus to the six in one vaccine given to babies. Most, if not all of them, needed to be kept in controlled conditions to maintain their effectiveness. But if she really was in the eighteenth century, then she supposed something was better than nothing.

_Just remember you can’t save the world, but you can save your family. You’re in a different time, people die of diseases we can cure now. As hard as it will be, you need to remember that._

_They still burn witches at the stake, you know!_

Just how big was her family going to be?

Eyeing the boxes like ticking time bombs, she continued to empty the bag. There was a few bottles of water, some dried fruit, energy bars, glucose tablets and a pouch full of old coins.

She set them down on her dress and moved on the the other pockets and compartments. By the time she’d finished, she had enough medication, surgical instruments, and bandages to start her own hospital.

He’d emptied God knows how many packets of paracetamol, ibroprofen and antibiotics into four huge plastic jars. There must have been hundreds, if not thousands of the small pills in each one, and everything was held in expensive looking, soft leather bags and pouches.

From the outside they looked as though they belonged in this century, but God help her if anyone saw their contents. How the bloody hell he thought she could get away with using any of it, she’d never know. She didn’t even want to consider how he’d procured it all.

“Oh, Joe. What have you done?”

In the last small pocket at the front of her bag she found her phone charger, two spare battery packs, a red mental cylinder with a handle and a note. She placed everything but the note on her dress and carefully unfolded it.

_Do you believe me yet?_

_My guess would be, no, but with time you will. I may have gone a little overboard with the care package but I needed to do what I could to keep you and our family safe. If you’ve not found it yet, I’ll apologise in advance, if you have then I know you’re probably about ready to kill me._

_I promise, LJ I’ve done nothing to jeopardise my career. What I could buy, I bought legally, what I couldn’t…well the less you know the better, but I’ll still have a job when I get back to Oxford, don’t you worry._

_You’ll have no need for your phone where you are now, but I wanted you to have Gail and I for as long as you could. That’s what the red things for. It’s a wind up charger. It will charge your phone enough for you to look at your photos, play your games or watch one of the many guilty pleasures I know you have downloaded._

_I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you to keep everything hidden. But as I said before, you can trust your man, from what I’ve read, he will love you more than life itself._

_Be safe and be happy, LJ. You deserve it._


	4. Chapter 4

Tears streamed silently down her face and she buried her head in her hands and let herself cry. She wasn’t this girl. She wasn’t the type of person to sit around feeling sorry for herself. She was strong, independent and resourceful. But it wasn’t everyday that she found herself trapped almost three hundreds years in the past. She was so overwhelmed, so terrified and confused that she could hardly breathe.

She’d never truly been alone before. Even after her Uncle Lamb died and she first moved to Oxfordshire, she wasn’t really alone, not like this anyway. Modern technology meant she was always only a phone call away from a friendly voice. But here she was alone in the truest sense of the word and it scared her to death.

“Hush now, Sassenach.”A soft voice whispered, and she suddenly found herself wrapped in her blanket and a strong, warm embrace.

She stiffened for a split second before she turned and buried face against his chest. She didn’t have to look to see who it was, she already knew, and she clung to him, shaking, as he ran his fingers through her hair and murmured soft words of comfort in a language she didn’t understand.

He was so large in comparison to her, that she was completely engulfed by him. Maybe that should have scared her, but he was so calm and gentle that, for the first time since Joe left her this morning, she felt safe, and she could feel herself slowly relaxing into his embrace.

He smelled like sweat and horses, heather and man. But, unlike Randell, it wasn’t repulsive, it was reassuring somehow. It almost fit with his strong heart beat as it thumped heavily beneath her ear. She felt stupid even thinking it, it made no sense. But together with his deep even breathing, they made him real, and she didn’t feel so alone anymore.

He may have been a stranger, but in this strange land, in this strange time, he was all she knew, and she held on tight.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, loosening her hold on his jacket and attempting to pull away. She felt his arms tighten around her, then he sighed and gently moved her back to arms length. She looked up at him, and despite everything, she never wanted to look away.

He was so beautiful.

She’d noticed it before, of course, but the acknowledgement had been lost in her panic.

“For what?” A slight frown touched his brow as he spoke, but his deep blue eyes were as warm as his embrace, and if she wasn’t careful she’d drown in them.

“Falling apart.” His frown deepened and he shook his head as he released her and sat back on the grass. She missed the comfort of his touch almost instantly and silently chastised herself.

“Dinna fash yerself, Sassenach. I think ye’v every right to weep a bit after what happened.” She let out a soft, humourless laugh and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her cardigan.

“Yeah, probably.” She agreed with a sigh. He was referring to what happened at the stream, but as terrifying as it was, in the grand scheme of things, that whole ordeal had become almost insignificant. “What happened to him?”

“He’s under guard, he’ll no harm ye again.” He nodded, his eyes meeting and holding hers, “but ye ken he’s no the only man out here who’d harm a lassie. It’s no safe for ye to be out here alone.”

She swallowed and dropped her eyes to her lap. She’d been forced into independence at a young age, she knew how to look after herself, how to defend herself, and how to thrive in what was still a mans world, and she valued that independence. Yet, here she was, stuck in the eighteenth century where men really _did_ own the world, and women were no more than property. It chafed to admit that she really would need a man for protection. Christ she’d been attacked by a bloody redcoat, and they were the ones meant to protect the people.

_Fuck my life!_

“I know.” She forced out, trying and failing, to not let her bitterness leak through. It wasn’t his fault, he was a product of his time, and he was only trying to warn her.

“Where are ye from, lass?”

“Oxfordshire.”

“And what brought ye to Scotland? It’s no a…kind place to be for a Sassenach.” She looked back at him as he spoke and laughed lightly when his lips twitched on the last word.

“No, I don’t suppose it is.” She agreed and then shrugged. “I was travelling with friends. We became…separated.”

“I see.”

She watched him warily as he slowly unfolded himself and pushed to his feet. He didn’t take his eyes off her at first, but whatever he was thinking was hidden behind a reenforced wall. But as he turned and walked towards the centre stone, her heart leapt up into her throat and lodged itself there.

Her whole body began to shake as realisation dawned. She didn’t know how long he’d been watching her before he’d approached, but she suddenly knew, with unwavering certainty, that he’d seen her. She hadn’t thought about it before, but he must have noticed the strangeness of her bag and clothing down by the stream, and since he’d been up here on the hill, she’d never once considered her belongings, scattered as they were beside her.

She dared not look at them now, she couldn’t take her eyes off him, and it was too late any way. He’d already seen them.

She felt sick.

“How does it work?” He asked quietly, as he placed his palm flat against the granite. She swallowed thickly, shook her head and shrugged.

“I don’t know.” She choked out as she clambered to her own feet, praying her legs would hold her up. “It was…humming and…screaming when I touched it this morning. But now nothing.”

He turned to face her again and his eyes roamed from the top of her head, to the tips of her toes. She shuddered, and pulled the blanket tightly around her.

“Ye a fae?” He asked quietly, his voice as wary as his eyes.

“A fae? You mean a fairy?” Her own eyes widened and she shook her head vigorously. “No! And for the record, I’m not a witch either.”

She could have slapped herself for adding that last part. For all she knew, she’d just put the idea in his head and he’d have her frog marched through the nearest town to a burning pyre.

_You’re such a moron, Beauchamp! You’re going to get yourself killed!_

He nodded again and walked slowly towards her belongings. She watched him carefully as he looked them over, too afraid to even blink, less she find herself suddenly hog tied to the back of a horse. But he simply sat back down and motioned for her to do the same.

She all but fell onto the grass and tucked her knees up to her chest, attempting to protect herself from what was to come.

“I havena spent my whole life in Scotland.” He told her quietly. “I’ve travelled. Attended university in Paris. Learnt more of the world than what’s just afore me now, ye ken?” She nodded, and swiped at her eyes.

“I’m an educated man, Sassenach. Yet, never have I seen anything akin to what ye have here; save ye wee book, but even that…” he shook his head and ran a finger over the glossy cover. “I willna ask ye anything if ye dinna want me to. But answers me this…do ye mean us harm?”

She licked the salty tears from her lips and shook her head. Was he the man Joe had told her about? The one she could trust? The one that would love her beyond all reason? Whether he was or not, it was her that was the threat. She was an unknown entity in a land wrapped in legends and superstition, and with the answer to one simple question he was willing to put his faith in her.

“What’s your name?”

“Jamie.”

She licked her lips again and looked away from him for the first time. He was putting his trust in her, but to earn that trust, she had to trust him in return.

“I don’t know what happened. I don’t know why I’m here, or even how I came to be here, save from touching the stone, and I don’t know how to get back. If I did, I’d go and leave you in peace.” She looked back up at him and on impulse, reached for his hand. It was large, warm, and calloused and she squeezed it gently as she held his eyes. “But I swear to you, Jamie. I’m not a fairy or a witch, I’m just a girl, and I promise I would never hurt anyone. I’ll have to hide who I am, and all of this from the world, but if you’re trusting me, I’ll trust you. You can ask me anything you like and I’ll answer truthfully.”

Gently, so as not to offend her she thought, he squeezed her hand in return, then removed it from hers and lent back. As he moved, his jacket parted slightly, and she caught sight of the red stain that saturated his shirt. She closed her eyes and took a deep breathe.

Although he’d made no sign of it, he was hurt, and she had the means to help him. But it was twenty first century medicine, and she wasn’t sure he trusted her enough to let her use it. But she had to try.

“Ye say ye dinna ken how ye came to be _here_.” He spoke at last, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She needed an opening and she’d grab the first one she could. “But where did ye come _from?_ ”

_Thank you, God!_

“That’s the irony of it. In distance, I haven’t actually gone _anywhere_. I was _here_ at Craig na Dun with friends. After I touched the stone I woke up on the ground, I was terrified, but I thought the whole experience had been a nightmare.” She explained carefully, trying to find words for something she didn’t understand herself. “I think I’ve travelled in time, not miles.”

“I dinna understand.” He frowned and she huffed out a laugh.

“Neither do I, and it seems foolish to ask, but what year is it?”

“T’is the year of our Lord seventeen forty three.” So Joe had been right, and while she was expecting that answer, it was still a shock to have it confirmed. She took a deep breath, and smiled at him as best she could.

“When I touched the stone this morning, I was in the year two thousand and eighteen. So, while I’m in the same place I’ve traveled two hundred and seventy five years into the past.”

His eyes widened and shot to the stone beside him. It had taken her hours to accept what had happened to her, but it was no more than a minute before he turned back to her, his face calm but his eyes clearly showing his awe.

“The wife of Balnian.”

“Something like that, yes. The world’s a completely different place where I’m from, and if you want to know about it, I’ll gladly tell you. But for now the most important thing you need to know is that medicine has come a long, long way. We can heal diseases that don’t even exist yet, and prevent ones that do. We can preform life saving surgeries on people in a deep sleep so they don’t feel the pain, and have means of tending to wounds in a way to prevent fevers and illness.”

“Is that so?” He asked, his lips twitching.

“Aye, t’is.” His lip twitch turned in to a chuckle at her crappy attempt at a Scottish accent and for the first time he winced. “I’m a doctor, Jamie and I have things with me that can help you. But you have to trust me.” He was silent for a moment, watching her, then he sighed and nodded.

“Aye, Sassenach. I dinna understand it a bit, but I trust ye.”

“Good. Now, while you take off your coat and shirt, you can tell me what happened.” She ordered lightly as she stood and lay her blanket out on the ground. It was far from sanitary, but she supposed that was something she would have to get used to.

“Randell tried to escape. He caught me wit’ his blade when I stopped him.” He explained simply as he took off his jacket and stood to remove his shirt.

She tried really, really hard to focus on his wound and to not notice the rest of his body, but it was impossible. He had muscles that you just don’t get from working in a gym, and she’d challenge any woman not to notice just how beautiful he was.

She stepped closer and bent to look at the cut before nodding and pointing to the blanket.

“I don’t think it’s deep enough to have done any internal damage. But I won’t know for sure until I get it cleaned up. Lie down on the blanket, it will be easier to treat that way.”

“As ye say, Doctor.” His voice was almost as light as hers had been as he walked towards the blanket, but she could hear the wariness and scepticism and she turned to throw a comment over her shoulder, but it died in her throat.

His back was covered from shoulder to hip with a mass of angry, criss-crossed scars. She could see the places where his flesh had been practically torn from his bones and she wanted to weep for the agony he must have endured.

“Randell.”

“What?” She blinked and looked up at him. He was still facing away from her, but he must have felt her stare and she was suddenly consumed with guilt.

“Randell. He gave me two hundred lashes for obstruction an’ attempting to escape Fort William.”

“And I only broke his nose!” She huffed as she turned away from him and bent to retrieve the largest of her new medical bags. Descreatly wiping her eyes as she did. “It speaks a lot for your character that you didn’t just kill him at the side of the stream.” He laughed, and she swallowed painfully past the lump in her throat.

“Ye did more than break his nose, Sassenach. Ye nigh on ripped his bollocks off wit’ ye nails. He still canna walk.”

“Good.” She laughed as she knelt by the blanket and patted it softly. “Now lie down, Soldier before you bleed to death.”

He did as he was told and watched as she coated her hands with sanitiser shook them dry and slipped on a pair of surgical gloves.

“When you get sick or a wound becomes red and swollen. It’s caused by tiny…particles called germs. They’re so small you can’t see them but their there and they cause what we call infections.” She explained as she ripped open a pad and pressed it against the cut.

It went up his left hand side from his hipbone towards his navel. How he’d been walking around without acknowledging it, she’d never know. It was deep and nasty, but if his back was anything to go by, she supposed he’d had worse.

“They cause fevers when cuts go untreated or aren’t cleaned properly. That’s what the liquid and the gloves are for. It’s a form of alcohol and it kills any germs that might be on my hands. The gloves protect us both from any further spread of them.” She rambled.

She was so conscious of the fact that everything she was using would be alien to him. It didn’t matter that he said he trusted her, it wouldn’t take much for him to assume witchcraft, educated or not.

“Claire.” He whispered stopping her chatter with his surprising use of her name, and a soft touch on her arm. “Ye dinna need to fash. I ken ye no a witch, lass.”

She laughed and shook her head.

“How do you know my name?” She asked as she lifted the padding and took a closer look at the cut. It looked clean but she grabbed a bottle of saline and used it to wash it out before cleaning the whole area with alcohol wipes.

“I heard ye tellin’ Randell.”

“Ah,” she nodded, remembering that he’d come up behind them not long after that.

“I know you don’t need an explanation of what I’m doing, but because I don’t know what kind of care you’ll have when you leave here. I’m going to glue your cut rather than stitch it.” She explained, as she uncapped the glue, spread it across the wound and pinched the skin together. “It’ll stop infection and water getting in. I’ll give you a couple of these to use after you take off the bandage.” She held up a small packet containing an alcohol wipe and ripped it open. “You need to wipe over the area and burn it when you’re done. They’re like the liquid, they’ll kill any germs and reduce the risk of infection.”

She wiped over the sealed cut, secured it with four steri-strips and covered the whole things with an adhesive pad.

“There you’re done. Just change the big pad every other day for the next week then remove the whole thing and clean it with the wipes.” He sat up and looked down at his stomach, shaking his head.

“I couldna even see it after ye’d put the wee glue on it. I might reconsider my opinion of ye witchiness.” She laughed and watched as he reached into her bag. He pulled out one of the small packets of wipes and held it up. “This stops ye gettin’ sick from cuts an’ the like?”

“Yes. It’s an alcohol wipe.” He nodded and rested the small square packet on his knee before reaching for the bottle of sanitizer.

“And this? How does the wee bottle work?” She took it from him and after turning his palm up, she pushed down the plunger. A large dollop of gel pooled in his hand and she laughed as he scrunched up his nose.

“Now rub your hands together like this.” She put some on her gloves hands and showed him how to work it between his fingers and up over his wrist. “You can still see the dirt, but there’s nothing harmful on there now.”

“Good.” She watched in confusion as he picked up the alcohol wipe, ripped it open, and brought it slowly toward her. “Turn ye head, Sassenach.”

She did as she was told and almost burst into tears when he gently wiped the cloth over the cut on her neck. She’d forgotten all about it in the aftermath of her attack and she was so touched by his care that she couldn’t speak.

“Did he cut ye side?”

“No.” She squeaked, but moved her cardigan aside and looked down at her stomach. Her vest top was a soft cream, and although they was blood along the neckline and on her cardigan; most likely from Jamie, there was none anywhere else. “How bad is my neck?”

His eyes were sad when they met hers, but he smiled softly and and ran his finger gently down her cheek.

“It’s no deep. But ye’v a nasty bruise, Sassenach. I’m sorry he hurt ye.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for. You’re not responsible for another mans actions, and I think I own you my virtue, if not my life. So thank you. I shudder to think what could have happened if you hadn’t intercepted when you did.”

“Ye dealt with him all ye self, lassie.”

“Maybe, but it was you who gave me the courage to do it. Now, lets finish setting you to rights, I’m sure you have better things to do than sit around here all day.” She smiled at him softly, trying not to think of him leaving her here, then reached over and grabbed one of the smaller leather bags and pulled out a syringe.

“Now what do ye intend to do wit that?” He asked, eyeing the needle with distrust.

“Stab you with it.” She laughed, selecting a vial of penicillin and another with the tetanus vaccine. “You’ve heard of the lock jaw?”

“Aye.”

“Well this,” She held up the tetanus, “Prevents you from getting it. And the other is an antibiotic. It’s another treatment against infection. But I need to inject them into you, and for that I use this.” She held up the needle and bit her lip.

Typical man. He hardly flinched when she glued him back together, but show them a needle and they blanch. She worked quickly, jabbing him with one and then the other, before placing them back in her bag and snapping off the gloves.

She only had a few syringes so she’d need to boil and reuse them. It wasn’t ideal, but she really didn’t have any choice. The next time she used any of her kit anyway it would be on her family. If Joe was to be believed. But she owed Jamie her life and couldn’t leave him injured, beside he knew who she was.

No one else beside her family ever would or could.

“Evil woman.” He complained as he stood and pulled his shirt over his head. She laughed and held out two ibroprofen and an open bottle of water.

“Take these. They’ll help with the pain. Just place them on your tongue and swallow them with the water. Don’t chew them.” He did as she instructed and as he handed her the bottle she offered him two new dressing pads and three wipes. “You remember how to use these?”

“Aye, I ken. But as ye’ll be wit’ me, ye can change em for me yerself.”

“What?”

“Do ye really think I’d leave ye out here to fend for yerself? Nay, lass. Ye’ll come wit’ us to Leoch to deliver Randell and await Argyll. Then I’ll see ye where ye want to go.”

“But…”

“I willna force ye, Sassenach, but it isna safe out here for a lassie alone. If ye wit’ me, I’ll see no harm come to ye.”


	5. Chapter 5

When taken for the kindhearted, gallant, yet simple offer of friendship and protection, that it was. Jamie’s offer warranted a heartfelt thank you, and a quick acceptance from her, and both were right on the tip of her tongue.

Not only was he kind, thoughtful, and intelligent. But he’d discovered her secret and, rather than branding her a liar and a witch, he’d believed her and trusted her with his life. After having only known him for such a short amount of time, she knew beyond a doubt, that she could trust him with hers too, and she would in a heart beat.

But his offer, and her acceptance of it, were not quite as simple as they seemed.

For him, bringing an English woman under his protection was, at best foolish, and at worst outright dangerous. The English were already abhorred by the Scots and, unbeknownst to him, the two were on the verge of a war that would complete destroy the highland way of life.

Worst yet, she was an English woman with a secret that, in the wrong hands, could get her killed. How that secret would effect him, she didn’t know, but she wasn’t prepared to risk his life to save her own.

For her, acceptance meant more than just agreeing to travel with him, it meant _everything_. Leaving Craig na Dun meant giving up and acknowledging that she would never go home. That she would never see her friends again, that she would never finish medical school, or drive in a car, fly in a plane, make a phone call, or drink coffee in the park on a Saturday afternoon.

She wouldn’t just be leaving Craig na Dun, she’d be leaving her whole life in the twenty first century. It meant that she would have to accept that this, the eighteenth century, was _her life, her time_ , and she just didn’t know how to do that. It was a decision that would determine the path of her whole life and she was terrified.

It was too soon.

Yet, how could she refuse? She knew only one person in the whole world, and he was stood here now, amongst all her worldly possessions, offering her safety.

She clasped her hands in her lap, doing what she could to hide their shaking, as she looked up at him. He was watching her, as he had for the majority of their time together, and she knew that his deep blue eyes and shielded mind missed nothing.

She took a deep breath and wet her dry lips, preparing herself to speak, but having no idea what words would come out of her mouth.

“Thank you, Jamie, truly.” She found herself saying quietly, “But I can’t ask you to…”

“Ye’v asked nothing of me, lass. I’m offering.” He whispered as he crouched down in front of her and clasped both of her trembling hands in his. “Claire, ye ken as well as I, that ye’v nowhere else to go. But ye needn’t be scairt. I’ll ask nothing of ye in return, save the knowledge that ye safe.”

“I never thought you would. Jamie, I’m not scared of you. I’m scared for you. I don’t want your association with me to harm you in any way. And I’m terrified of acknowledging that I’ll never go home.” She clarified quietly, as she carefully pulled one hand free to swipe at her eyes.

_Would she ever stop bloody crying!_

He sighed and sat back on the grass, before placing a finger under her chin and forcing her to look at him.

“I canna begin to understand what ye goin’ through. No-one can. But ye canna get back, lass. Ye tried an’ it dinna work. Near tore my heart out to see ye, ye ken?” He admitted sadly, casting a quick glance at the stone. “But if ye must stay, surely t’is best that ye no face it alone, that ye have friends? I canna offer ye much, but I can offer ye that.”

“I know you’re right, and I’m more grateful than you could ever know. But…”

“But ye scairt for me? Aye ye said, but I dinna ken why.”

“I’m English, Jamie!”

“Aye, I’d noticed.” He scoffed, blinking at her owlishly. “An’ ye a feisty wee thing too. I’m more scairt of what ye did to Randell than I am of ye heritage, Sassenach.”

“But you don’t understand, I know things that will happen. If you think the Scottish hate the English now, it’s nothing compared to what’s coming. Then there’s this!” She waved her hand towards her belongings then slapped it down on her knee in frustration, “I need them, yet if anyone sees them, I’m a dead woman. I won’t have you, or anyone else, tied up in that.”

“This thing tha’s coming; will it be here afore we get to Leoch two days from now?” He asked and she laughed, humourlessly, and shook her head.

“No. It’s going on quietly now, but it will be a year or so before things start to take shape. It will come to a bloody end in April seventeen forty six. But then worse will come…Christ, I sound like a carnival gypsy.” She huffed, rubbing at her face with her free hand.

“For such a wee lass, ye carry a great weight on ye shoulders, Sassenach. Ye dinna need to carry so much. Tha’s a way off yet, and ye’v time to tell me if ye come. As for ye things, if we can shuffle em round a wee bit, we can keep em hidden, dinna fash.”

She looked over at her things and sighed. It was the medical kits, food and coins that she would really need, the rest were just things she didn’t want to let go of. She squeezed his hand then took a deep breath and released it.

“I think the rucksack…um the big bag, is most likely my biggest problem, so that needs to go.”

He smiled and the look of relief that washed over his face, touched her. She’d known he was concerned for her safety, he’d said as much, but she didn’t realise the extent until she saw that look.

“Aye. So what do ye propose we do?”

“My friend Joe packed all these things for me. He knew what would happen, apparently, and wanted to make sure I’d have things I needed.” She explained as she opened the largest of the medical bags again and started pulling everything out. “He’s not known for his packing skills, if I rearrange everything, most of what I have here should fit in the leather bags.”

When she’d gone to bed last night, her rucksack had been full of clothes and anything else she’d thought to bring on the trip with her. He must have replaced it during the night. With the bags of supplies and the boxes of vaccines taking up so much room, she’d hadn’t realise that he’d removed most everything else.

“Ye friend knew and didna try an’ stop ye?” Jamie asked, shocked. She laughed and shook her head.

“It’s a long story. He left me a letter explaining the basics of why. But I’ve not really had chance to wrap my head around it yet. When I have, I’ll explain it to you.”

Once the bag was empty, she began the daunting task of repacking. First was the book of Scottish flora, a thoughtful gift that ensured she could heal without the use of twenty first century medicine. With it went her wires, battery packs, and phone charger. On top of that went a layer of bandages, pads, wipes and a vest top.

As she turned to open the first box of vaccines, she noticed Jamie studying a large block of Diary Milk chocolate.

“It’s chocolate.” She told him, as she carefully nestled each individual vial amongst the protecting padding she’d created. “Have you had it before?”

“No. Though it was offered to me as a drink in Paris. It dinna appeal.”

“More fool you for turning it down.” She laughed, throwing the empty box aside and taking the chocolate from him. Carefully, she peeled open the wrapper, broke off a square and offered it to him. “It’s so good. Try it.”

He took the small square from her, holding it as though it might bite him. His elegant nose was scrunched up adorably and she could help but laugh as she broke off her own square and popped it in her mouth.

“God, I’ll miss this.” She mumbled as she let the chocolate melt on her tongue, savouring it. He hesitantly put his own piece in his mouth and she watched, with barely concealed laughter, as his face changed from wariness to delight. “Ah, I’m creating a monster.”

“Ack, Sassenach. T’is good, how much do ye have?”  
She laughed and held up the block.

“Just this I’m afraid.”

“Then I’ll send for some from Paris.”

She laughed again, and reached for more pads and underwear, laying it on top of the vials and opening the next box. It reminded her of making lasagna, as she added one layer after the next, but she continued until all one hundred and eighty vials were safely tucked away.They were so delicate and vital, that she had to protect them.

Two small leather cases and the barber roll that held all her instruments, just fit snuggly on the top and with a relieved sigh, she snapped the bag shut and fasted the buckle.

“One down, one to go.”

The second, smaller bag he’d sent, was almost jam packed full, but she managed to squeeze in the rest of her underwear, her food, the coin pouch, toothbrush and toothpaste.

Of what was left, the only thing she’d really miss was her toiletries. With a regretful sigh, she opened the bottle of shampoo and breathed in the delicate floral scent.

“What is it?”

“Soap.” She laughed, holding it out for him to smell. “Two for my hair, and one for my body.”

“Why do ye need so many?” He asked, frowning as he took the bottle from her. “Smells like roses.”

“Yeah it does. And honestly, we probably don’t. I suppose it’s all about the people that make them wanting to earn more money, and fools that we are, we buy into their marketing ploys.”

“I dinna ken half of what ye say, lass.” He chuckled, handing her back the bottle and picking up her phone off the grass. It came to life in his hand and he gasped and promptly threw it onto her dress.”a dia.”

She burst into pearls of laugher, and if she hadn’t have been worried about scaring him to death, she’d have grabbed it and snapped a picture of his face. He looked horrified.

“It isna funny, Sassenach! What the devil is it?”

“Oh God. Your face!” She giggled as she reached for her phone and AirPods. “It’s priceless.” She really should have placed them in the bottom of her bag, but it was habit to keep them out, and she was so glad she had now.

“It would take longer than we have to really explain it. It does so much, most of it useless here, but for now the easiest things to show you are probably the pictures and the music.”

“Aye, two words I understand.” He huffed, but his lips twitched and she shuffled around to sit next to him.

“Don’t ask me how it works, what I do understand of it will take too long to explain. But it has what’s called a camera. It takes photographs, which are like oil paintings created by light and done instantly.” She opened up the camera app, and held her phone up in front of them.

“T’is a looking glass.” He marvelled, shifting her hand slightly so that the images of the two of them moved.

“I suppose so, yes. But keep still and look at the two of us on the screen…in the glass.” She corrected as she moved in closer, smiled slightly and snapped the photograph. “See?”

She moved away and handed him the phone. He looked from her, to the screen, to the place she’d just been sitting. His eyes were wide, and he moved the phone around, looking at the photograph from different angles.

“Are ye sure ye no a witch?”

“Positive,” she laughed. “I have thousands of them. I’ll show you them sometime. You’ll be able to actually see what the twenty first century is like.”

He was adorable. His eyes filled with wonder, like a kid on Christmas morning, as he handed her back the phone and nodded.

“I’d like that. Now, about the music?” His enthusiasm was infectious and she laughed again as she swapped her camera for iTunes and opened her play list.

“As you can imagine, music has changed so much over the years. I have a good selection of different types, but I’ll start you off with something that won’t scare the hell out of you.”

She had everything from Bach to Linkin Park and deciding on something in the middle, she connected her AirPods pressed play and slipped one in her ear.

“Put this in your left ear, like I did with the right.” She turned her head to show him, and handed him the AirPod. She’d chosen her chill out playlist, and Ed Sheran’s Perfect. It was mellow and quiet enough, but he still recoiled as he placed the bud in his ear.

He pulled it out quickly and looked at it with the same wonder he had the photograph, before slowly bringing it back up to his ear.

“I have no words, Sassenach.” He whispered as she stood and began to gather what was left of her belongings and stuffed them into her rucksack. The music still playing softly for them both.

“It’s amazing: experiencing it from your prospective. I’ve never known any different, I grew up with it and never really considered how awe inspiring it was.”

“Weel, I’m suitably awed, lass. An’ privileged of ye showing me. Thank ye.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiled softly, taking the AirPod from him and placing all three items in an inside pocket of her medical bag. “Now, what do we do with this?”

He considered the rucksack for a moment, the bent to pick it up and placed it on his shoulder like he’d seen her do earlier by the stream.

“There’s a ravine no too far away. T’is mighty deep. We’ll fill it wit’ rocks and toss it in.”

“Will we go straight to Leoch from there?” She asked as she watched him unclip the long strap off her medical bag and move to pick up her blanket.

“Aye. The men have gone ahead wit’ Randell, but we’ll catch em up by nightfall.” He moved towards her and draped the blanket over her shoulders, before wrapping the leather strap around her waist and tying it off. He fingered the corner of the blanket, turned it over in his hand, and ran his thumb gently over the stitching.

She stood frozen, watching him as he contemplated it. Slowly, he released it, stepped back and met her gaze. His eyes were soft and warm and she swallowed thickly.

“Where did ye come by ye plaid?” He murmured as he moved to collect her two leather bags. She held out her hand for one, but he shook his head and motioned for her to move ahead of him down the hill.

“Um, it was a gift from my friend Joe.” She answered just as quietly as he fell into step behind her, “why do you ask?”

“And how did he come to have it? T’is old no?”

“Yes it is. Not long after we met, a few of us went to dinner at his apartment. It was draped over the back of his couch and I’d admired it.” She explained as she stepped over rocks and branches, missing her running shoes that she’d left by the stream this morning.

“It was late and I fell asleep. When I woke up the next morning, I was coved with it. I don’t know why but I fell in love with it and used it every time I was there. He gifted it to me the following Christmas. That was three years ago, and I’ve had it ever since. I believe it was his mothers before that. I think it’s been in her family for years.”

He was quiet for a moment, and she looked up at him, wondering what it was about a blanket that could have him so undone. But he was miles away, his eyes looking ahead, but not really seeing what was in front of him.

Before she could ask he what was wrong, he stopped and she turned to find herself face to face with a huge black beast. She jumped back, and would have fallen if Jamie hadn’t have caught her.

“This is Donas.” He laughed, as he steadied her carefully before placing her bags down and moving to stroke his hand lovingly down the horses flank. “He’s a braw lad, wit’ a wicked temper. But he flies like the wind.”

“He’s beautiful.” She whispered, still clutching her heart that was hammering away in her throat. Coming upon him so suddenly had shocked her, but she wasn’t afraid of him. Horses had been the only means of transport in some of the places she’d lived, and she’d learned to ride at a very young age. “I take it he’s yours?”

“Aye. He belonged to my uncle, but wicked beast tha’ he is, he’ll no let anyone else near him. Save ye, apparently.” He added, awed again as her hand joined his on the horse.

He patted the beast on his shoulder, whispering to him softly in Gaelic before he retrieved her bags and attached them to the back of the saddle.

“Ye ken how to ride, lass?”

“Yes, though I’ve never ridden side saddle before as I expect I’ll have to now.” His eyebrows shot up and she laughed at the scandalised look on his face. “Yes, women wear trousers and ride like men where I from. Shocking I know.”

“Then dinna let me stop ye, but I’ll have ye ride like a lass when we meet up wit’ the men. I’ll no have em judging ye.” He warned as he bent to tighten the saddle and check the stirrups.

“Jamie.” She whispered, as she reached out to touch his arm. He stopped what he was doing and turned to face her. “I’ve got a lot to learn. Women from my time have as much freedom and rights as men. We have a voice, we work, earn our own money, and live alone if we chose. We’re strong and independent and don’t rely on men for anything.

“I know that isn’t the way things are here. I know I’ll have to adjust and accept limitations that I’m not accustomed to. It won’t be easy, and I’m sure I’m in for a shock. I expect I’ll be corrected and scorned more than once, but I do know how a lady should act. I won’t do anything to embarrass you, not on purpose anyway, and that starts with learning how to ride as I should. Just don’t let me fall off, okay?”

“Ah, lass.” He sighed, softly brushing a lock of hair off her face. “Dinna ever change.”

She was drowning in his eyes, lost in a moment that was so tender that her whole body erupted in goosebumps. God help her, but she wanted to kiss him, to stand on the very tips of her toes and pull him down against her. She’d never felt anything like it, and she wanted to cry when she saw the wall come back down over his eyes, shutting her out.

Even in the short time she’d known him, she’d realised that he was a master at hiding his thoughts and emotions, and desperate to keep him in the moment she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“What was it about the blanket that…upset you?” It was the wrong thing to ask, because he took a breath and stepped further away from her. But thankfully he was still close enough to reach down and touch the corner again.

He lifted it, and brought it to rest against his kilt. It matched. Though her’s was clearly older and more worn, the patten and the colour of the tartan were the same. How she hadn’t noticed she’ll never know.

“My mother made it. It was a wedding gift for my father. He gifted it to me before I left for Paris, and I’m wearing it now, Sassenach.”

He turned both the edge of the blanket and of his kilt and held them side by side, as he ran his thumb over the stitching once again. She’d seen them before, the initials woven into the fabric, and had wondered who they belonged too.

“Ellen Caitriona Mackenzie Fraser,” Jamie whispered. “My mother.”


	6. Chapter 6

They’d ridden in silence to the ravine. Jamie had been right, it wasn’t far from Craig na Dun, and when they’d arrived he’d left her seated on Donas as he’d filled her rucksack with large rocks and launched it into the middle of the deep, dark pool of water.

That had been hours ago, yet still they were silent, lost in their own thoughts, as the sun set and the night closed in around them. She was exhausted, hungry and uncomfortable riding sideways on a saddle designed for a man. But she didn’t complain, and as much as she longed to, she didn’t lean back against the warm, welcoming expanse of his chest.

Something had shifted between them at the base of the hill, they’d shared a moment and, for some reason, it had caused him to barricaded himself behind the titanium wall that shielded his mind. For the first time since they met, he’d been the vulnerable one, and she wondered if that had something to do with it, or if it had been her need for him to kiss her that had disturbed him.

Unlike Jamie, she’d never quite mastered the art of hiding her thoughts or emotions, and they were more often than not, written plainly on her face. If he’d seen that and hadn’t felt the same, it was understandable that he’d want to create some distance.

And he was right to do so.

She had only known him for a few hours, but she was emotionally wrung out, and had most likely sought some form of comfort from the only available source. It was psychology one oh one, the victim who forms an emotional attachment to their rescuer. If it wasn’t so awkward, she’d apologise and explain what had happened and why. But she wouldn’t even know how to start, so she kept her silence, and left him to his.

To compound all of that, she was still trying to process the fact that she was wrapped in his plaid, and had been almost every day for the past three years. It was mind boggling to think that he was wearing the exact one that she was, and that the two could even exists at the same time. How he must be feeling about that she couldn’t even begin to imagine.

What she was trying _not_ to think about, and failing miserably, was how Joe had come to own it, and the real reason he’d given it to her.

Kilts had been banned after the rising of ’46, but it stood to reason, that if Jamie’s had survived, that like his father before him, he would hand it down to his son. Then he to his, and so on until it had been given to Joe, and ultimately her.

But why had Joe given it to her?

Was it just because she liked it? Had she been the first none Fraser to own it since Ellen had made it? Or had it been packed away with her diaries and come full circle? The next time a version of herself came through the stones would she bring two? Or had there always been two, but one had been kept or lost to age?

Christ, her head hurt!

Joe had said in his letter that he wouldn’t reveal her surname, that it was for her to find out for herself, and she was almost too afraid to admit that she may have done just that. It wasn’t until Jamie had said his mothers name that Claire had remembered that Joes mother was a Fraser, and she’d almost swallowed her tongue.

Up until that point, his mothers maiden name had been irrelevant. Though Joe said that they were related on his mothers side, she could have descended from a long line of female relatives, and her name could have been far removed from the line Claire was to become a part of.

But even she had to admit that it was all just too coincidental. At some point in her life she might just become a Fraser, but which Fraser would she marry? Having his plaid suggested that it could be Jamie, but he may have a brother or a cousin and, for reasons yet to be determined, they could inherit it.

On the other hand, she may never become a Fraser at all. It could be that she has a daughter that marries his son. For all she knew, he may _already_ have a son to give it to, and possibly a wife at home waiting for him.

The thought made her feel sick and she groaned quietly, mortified by her behaviour. She’d practically thrown herself at him earlier and now she was all but planning their wedding! And all without really knowing a damn thing about him.

“Are ye well, Sassenach?” He spoke quietly, but they’d been silent for so long, that his voice startled her and she almost jumped out of her skin. “Easy, I dinna mean to scare ye.”

“Sorry. Yes, I’m fine, just tired.” She lied.

The truth was, she was so far from fine that it wasn’t even funny. She was beyond exhausted, emotionally raw, and losing her bloody mind. It was just too confusing, which was why she was trying _not_ to think about it in the first fucking place.

“We canna be far off now, but rest a wee bit. I’ll no let ye fall off.” He promised, reminding her of their earlier conversation, as he shifted his arm and attempted to nudge her back against him.

She held herself ridged in her seat and shook her head. She was already getting attached to him, falling asleep in his arms would only make things worse.

“You’re injured, and I’m fine, honestly.”

“Are ye sure ye no a Fraser? Ye’v got the damn stubbornness for it.” He chuckled lightly. She wanted to scream. It was like he’d read her damn mind, but she simply took a deep breath and shrugged.

“I’m not sure of anything right now.” She murmured. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Aye.”

“You don’t have to answer and I don’t mean to offend you, but, what’s obstruction?” She asked quietly. It hadn’t gone unnoticed that he’d mentioned attempting to escape from Fort William. If he’d been imprisoned, he must have done something. But in this day and age it wouldn’t take much for a redcoat to lock up a Scot.

Obstruction sounded like a trumped up charge to her.

“It’s whatever Randell deemed it to be at the time.” He answered just as quietly. “In my case, I was obstructing him in his attempt to rape my sister.”

“What?” She gasped, turning her head so she could see him. It was dark, but she could clearly make out the ghosts of pain and anger lining his face. “I’m so sorry, Jamie. I shouldn’t have asked.”

She felt terrible for being it up, but he made that deep Scottish noise in the back of his throat and shook his head.

“Dinna fash. It was nigh on five years ago now. Just after I’d returned from Paris. It’s no but a memory.” He explained, as he settled further into his seat and pulled her against him, giving her no chance to refuse this time.

She gave in and nested against the right side of his chest, and rested her head. His arm tightened around her, and he was so warm, and smelled so good, that she instantly forgot every reason why she shouldn’t be doing this.

“When I saw ye by the stream with Randell, ye kent him by name. How, if ye’d only just arrived?” His voice was hesitant as he asked. But it was a valid question and she was surprised that he’d not asked her before now. For all he knew, she could have been in cohorts with Randell.

“One of the people I was travelling with is called Frank Randell. He’s a decedent of Black Jacks. When you both came across me at the stream I didn’t know what had happened and I thought he was Frank.” She told him, biting back a yawn. “Remind me, when we have a chance, and I’ll show you a photograph of him. They’re practically twins.”

“He’s a friends of yours then?”

“More of a friend of a friend. He knows Joe, so unfortunately I’ve had to spend more time with him than I would have liked. I don’t think the apple’s fallen very far from the tree there: he gives me the creeps.” She shivered and snuggled closer to Jamie, remembering the feel of Franks eyes on her as she attempted to wash yesterday.

“Were ye promised to him?” He asked. His voice was barely above a whisper, and she pulled back and frowned up at him.

“To Frank?” She gasped, disgusted by the idea.

“No. To Joe. Ye speak of him with fondness.” She laughed quietly, and shook her head as she snuggled back against his chest. If, God forbid, her and Joe had ever had a thing, it would have been the strangest form of incest she’d ever heard of.

“No. Joe’s my best friend and I love him like a brother, but it’s never been more than that.” She explained. “My parents died when I was five and the only family I had was my Uncle Lambert. He raised me until I was fifteen when he was killed in an accident. When I moved to Oxfordshire I had no one really until I met Joe. He’s older than me, and he took me under his wing. Him and Gail are getting married next April.”

“I’m glad ye had him.”

“Me too.”

She wanted to ask him if he was married or engaged to someone himself, but she was too afraid of the answer. After every disastrous date she had, Joe always promised her that’s she’d meet, and fall in love with the right man when she least expected it. She just hadn’t realised how literal he was being.

In the midst of the most earth shattering day of her life, when nothing but the magnitude of what had happened to her should be on her mind, she’d met him. Whether it was “romantic rescue syndrome” or honest to God sexual attraction, she didn’t know. But she was hoping she’d have time to find out.

If she discovered now that he had a wife she’d have to distance herself from him, and he was all she had in the world. She’d already lost Joe and Gail today, and she was too scared and too selfish to loose him too.

“If Randell imprisoned you once, how is it that you’re free and he’s the one in irons?” She asked, needed something less intimate to talk about. He remained silent for a moment, and then sighed, and she felt guilty for bringing it up again.

“When Randell an’ his men visited Lallybroch, it was under the guise of collecting provisions for the garrison at Fort William. As I’ve said, I’d no long been back from Paris. My da had been called away to London and he’d left me in charge.

“Murtagh, my Godfather, wrote him to tell him what had happened. He arrived back about a week after my second floggin’ with a pardon. Randell had no choice but to let me go.”

“Your second flogging?”

“Two hundred lashes.” He grimaced, “One hundred the day after I’d arrived, an’ another seven days later. He’d wanted to administer them the next day, but the doctor advised against it, an’ I suppose there’s no fun in floggin’ a dead man.”

“The fucking sadistic bastard.” She spat, horrified. What kind of monster would flog a man who had already been flayed to the bone? Who but the most sadistic fucker on earth, would flog someone a hundreds time, never mind two!

“I dinna ken what that is, Sassenach, but from ye tone, it’s no a pleasant thing to be.” He laughed, his humour slowly returning.

“A sadist is someone who gets…sexual pleasure from hurting someone, and I’m sure you know what a bastard is.”

“Aye I do. An’ I think ye’v the right of it…he’s a sadist alright. But what’s fucking?” He asked, so seriously that she almost choked on her own spit.

_Bloody hell!_

“Umm…it’s…well it’s…” She could feel a rare blush burning her cheeks and let out the most ridiculous, nervous giggle she’d ever heard. She was a doctor for God sake…well almost…but she should be able to explain it without turning into a child.

“That bad?” He laughed, tightening his arm around her.

“Yes, and not very ladylike at all. In the truest sense of the word it’s a…primal, rougher way of…making love. But it’s used as a way of expressing or enunciating a statement or opinion like…it’s fucking beautiful, or he’s a fucking idiot. Something like that.” She rushed out, her face on fire.

It didn’t help matters that she was sat so intimately between his legs, so close to the appendage that would be needed to complete the act, or that she wouldn’t say no if he asked for a demonstration.

It was only her imagination, but as close as they were, she could almost feel said appendage pushing against her hip, and fought to keep as still as she could, least she bang into it as the damn horse bounced them about.

“Ah.” He murmured, not helping her embarrassment at all, “ye right, it’s no very ladylike, but I take ye meaning.”

“Good. Now, to the second part of my original question.” She rushed on, “why have you captured him? Not that he doesn’t deserve much worse.”

From what she knew of Black Jack. He’d been almost a military hero before he’d died at Culloden. Frank had mentioned his time at Fort William and Wentworth, as well as his association with the Duke of Sandringham, but never anything about him being captured.

_Or about him being a complete wanker!_

Had something changed or had those blights on the family name been buried along with him?

“I’m no the only man he’s tortured. He’s pillaged, stollen, kilt and raped. Man, woman and child. He had protection for a time, but when it was uncovered it was put to an end. He’s a wanted man. When they came to arrest him, he escaped, kilt one of his men, an’ has been on the run ever since. He was spotted last week on Mackenzie lands, attacked a young lad, and we managed to track him down. He’ll most likely hang for his crimes.”

“That almost seems too quick and painless. Let’s see him flogged two hundred time, raped and then hung.” She huffed.

“Ye’v a bit of a sadist in ye an’ all, Sassenach.” He laughter, “we best all sleep with one eye open tonight.”

“An eye for an eye.” She huffed playfully. “So his association with Sandringham, that was uncovered?”

“Ah, ye ken about that do ye?” He asked rhetorically, “Aye, they canna hang a Duke, but he’s been stripped of his title and he’s a guest in the tower. I expect he’ll stay there for a good long while.”

Something had definitely changed. That wasn’t the history she knew. Sandringham had played a huge role in the Jacobite rising, riling up the Scots via the redcoats, and giving fifty thousand pounds to the Bonny Prince, before dying under mysterious circumstances.

She was too tired to try and puzzle it out now. But she would have to before she told Jamie about Culloden and the aftermath.

They fell silent again and, with Jamie’s warmth and the slow movement of the horse, she must have dozed. The next thing she knew, she was surrounded by rowdy laughter, and Jamie was gently nudging her awake.

“Ye back with me, Sassenach?” He asked quietly as he carefully untangled her from his arms.

“Yes. Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” She blinked, attempting to clear her vision, and take in her surroundings.

Just like her imaginings this morning. There was a group of highlanders sat around a roaring fire, laughing and handing around a skin, of what she presumed was whiskey. She smiled at the sight, then sat up away from Jamie and stretched.

“Ye needed it, lass. Ye’v had a hell of a day.” He told her softly as he shifted behind her and jumped down from the horse. “We’ll get some food in ye belly, then ye can sleep some more. We’ll no move till daybreak.”

“Ach, Jamie lad. Ye meant to bone a hoor, pay ‘er due, an’ leave ‘er behind. No keep ‘er. Did ye da no teach ye nothin’” a small heavyset man chided teasingly. Raucous laughter went up around the campfire, but Jamie remained silent as he reached up and lifted Claire down off the back of Donas.

She bit her lip, trying not to laugh as she thank him quietly. She’d grown up in a predominately male environment, bawdy humour was a staple part of her up bringing, and she thrived on it.

“House rules, I’m afraid, gentlemen.” She sighed, as she straightened her skirt and pulled the plaid tightly around her. “You break it, you buy it.” she shrugged and limped dramatically towards the fire.

There was a beat of absolute silence before a chorus of rambunctious laughter rose up and rent the still night air.

“Ah, Sassenach,” Jamie sighed close to her ear, “Dinna encourage em, lass. Rupert’s no joking, ye ken? One threat to ye virtue is enough for the day, aye?”

She stopped and looked up at him, shock, guilt and laughter battling for dominance on her face. Jamie shook his head, looking unimpressed.

_Shit!_

She’d promised not to embarrass him, and at the first opportunity she’d done just that. If she could kick herself in the arse she would. She was such a fucking idiot. She wasn’t in the twenty first century anymore, women didn’t just join in with the men here. She’d never been a wallflower, and she knew she could never just blindly follow a man, but she had to make an effort.

If and when she ever married, she could be herself with her husband and family, she wouldn’t marry a man that expected her to be something she wasn’t. But that time wasn’t now, and if nothing else, she owed it to Jamie to behave as a lady should.

Just like she’d promised him.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” She apologised just as quietly, “It won’t happen again.” She promised, but it was too late, the damage was already done.

“A hoor wit’ humour!” Rupert chortled, “I never heard a lass tell a joke afore.”

“Ye ken she’s no a hoor, ye cockwomble,” Jamie snapped, smacking Rupert across the head as he passed. “Come, Sassenach.” He was heading towards Randell, who was tied to a tree with two men standing guard. She followed him, walking properly this time and not daring to look at the men as she passed.

The smaller of the two guards approached Jamie and hugged him, patting him on the back as he did, never once taking his eyes off her. She could clearly see his assessment of her, but if he’d made an initial conclusion, she missed it. Like Jamie, he seemed to have a knack of hiding his thoughts too damn well.

“This the lassie tha’ castrated the bastard?” He asked roughly, looking at the bruises on her neck, as Jamie pulled away and stepped back. She wanted to reach up and cover them, but clasped her hands instead and bore the brunt of his gaze.

“Aye,” Jamie smiled, his bad humour hidden, if not forgotten, as he turned to face her, “Claire Beauchamp, my Godfather Murtagh Fraser.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She told him politely, and unsure whether to shake his hand or not, she kept hers clasped in front of her.

“Aye.” He nodded dismissing her and turning his attention back to his Godson. “I’ve sent Willie on wit’ word to His Grace, an’ young Callum on to Leoch. The Mackenzie will ready a cell, an’ we can keep him there until His Grace can rally a transport.”

“Aye,” Jamie agreed, “That was my thinkin’ too. Has he given ye any grief?”

“Ack, just whining about his bollocks. Ye did a fine job of mangling em, lass.” He praised. She bloody blushed again and unsure how to respond to that, she looked to Jamie pleadingly. He smirked and blinked at her owlishly again.

_Is that supposed to be a wink?_

God she hoped so, because if it was, it was the cutest damn thing she’d ever seen.

“That she did, I’d no mess with her after seeing that.” He smiled proudly. She let out a quiet laugh, but stop short when he frowned and gently touched her neck. “But he didna give her much choice. Near choked her to death using her as a shield. Cowardly bastard.”

Murtagh was watching their interaction, his eyes trained on them like a hawk, but she didn’t care.

“Jamie,” She whispered reaching up to squeeze his hand. But before she could make contact, or tell him to stop fretting, she found the drink skin thrust into her grasp. “Oh!” She gasped, spinning to face the small, round man from earlier.

“Hoor or no, ye a hero t’nite, lassie so drink up, aye. Slàinte!” He tipped the bottom of the skin, pushing it towards her lips, and not wanting to spill it, she took a mouthful and swallowed it quickly.

Tears filled her eyes and she pulled back, coughing and spluttering, as the liquid burned down the back of her throat. She couldn’t catch her breath, and that wasn’t helped by the large hand that patted her back roughly.

She waved it away, clutching at her throat with her free hand as she glared up at Jamie. Laughter sprung up around her again and she shoved the skin toward him.

_Jesus Christ!_

She’d never had whiskey before, she was more of a wine and beer kind of girl, but she was almost positive that twenty first century whiskey was quiet so corrosive!

“Definitely no a hoor!” Rupert chortled grinning at her toothlessly. She glared at him too, but that just seemed to encouraged his laughter. “But a feisty wee lassie.”

“Aye, so mind ye bollocks, Rupert, I’ll no stop her if she tries to rid ye of em.” Jamie warned, making no attempt to stem his own laughter. “Come, Sassenach. Let’s get ye some food an water then ye can sleep.”


	7. Chapter 7

After two days on horseback and two nights sleeping on the cold, hard ground, there was nowhere she didn’t ache. The ibroprofen in her bag called to her like a sirens song, but under the watchful gaze of eight suspicious highlanders, and one pissed off redcoat, she couldn’t risk even opening her bags, never mind taking pain killers.

She wasn’t the only one that needed them either. As much as he tried to hide it, Jamie’s side was bothering him, not that she was surprised. To resounding cheers from the men, he’d come strolling out of the forest last night carrying a great big bloody doe over his shoulders. She was starving, and grateful for the meat, but she could have quiet gladly throttled him where he stood.

No matter how sexy he’d looked.

He hadn’t been alone, he’d taken two other men with him, so why the hell they couldn’t have carried the beast she didn’t know.

_Bloody idiot!_

She sighed and shifted, attempting once again to ease the pain in her back, and Jamie sighed along with her.

“T’is no too far now, Sassenach. Leoch’s just over the rise an’ ye can rest a wee bit before supper.” He whispered, subtlety squeezing his thighs against her in reassurance. Like him, she’d attempted to hide her discomfort, but he missed nothing.

“I’m fine honestly, but I really need to check your wound and change the padding today. Is there somewhere we can do it at Leoch?” She whispered back. She’d wanted to check it last night, afraid that he’d ripped it open hunting, but hadn’t been able to. Jamie’s uncle, Dougal Mackenzie, had taken an instant dislike to her, and had barely let her out of his sight long enough for her to pee.

They’d ridden from dawn till dusk yesterday and not once did he stray out of hearing range, always staying close enough to listen into their conversation. As a result she and Jamie had barely spoken two words together and, although she’d been nestled snuggly between his thighs, he’d been distant. Keeping his hands securely on the reigns, rather than around her as he had the day before, and she missed him.

Even now, she could feel Douglas eyes on them and knew without looking that he was close enough to hear if they’d spoken anywhere above a whisper.

“Aye. We’ll get ye settled then I’ll come find ye after I’ve done speaking with Collum.”

Collum Mackenzie, another of Jamie’s uncles, and laird of castle Leoch. Jamie had told her what he could about him, in those rare moments that Dougal had been distracted, but she still didn’t know what to expect, other than a man that was as charming as he was sly. But through whispered, broken conversation, Jamies message had been clear: like Dougal, Collum wasn’t to be trusted.

But it was a moot point. The only man she trusted was Jamie. Even his Godfather, Murtagh, who he’d left to watch over her last night, was still someone she regarded with caution. He was protective of Jamie, and that spoke well for him, but still. He was a man of few words and she hadn’t really be able to take his measure.

Other than a brief round of congratulations on the first night for maiming Randell, none of the men had spoke to her. When there was conversation, it was clear that she wasn’t welcome in it, speaking as they were in Gaelic, knowing she didn’t understand a word of it.

So, left to her own thoughts, she’d been attempting to asses each man and the hierarchy of the group. It was clear that Dougal thought of himself as their leader, but to Claire it seemed that half of the men followed his orders simply to placate him. The other half didn’t even bother, and blatantly looked to Jamie for direction. It was only on his silent, if reluctant, nod of acquisition that they did as the older man had ordered.

This didn’t go unnoticed by Dougal either, and he did nothing to hide the fact that he loathed Jamie, as much as he loathed her, if not more so. Jamie, for his part, treated Dougal with respect and never once sought to usurp his position as pseudo leader. Murtagh on the other hand, didn’t, and he’d had a watchful eye on Jamie’s back throughout the journey.

The whole complex make-up of the group balanced on a knifes edge, and the tension was so thick, that it was almost its own entity. It gave her the distinct impression that, with one wrong move, the whole lot would come tumbling down and there’d be a fight to the death. It was as nerve-wracking as it was fascinating, and she warily anticipated seeing how it would play out at Leoch.

“See there, lass.” Jamie said, breaking the silence and pointing into the distance, “Leoch.”

She followed his gaze and had to bite back a grimace. The imposing castle loomed large less than a mile away, but with the flood of relief came a wave of anxious butterflies. She was past ready to get off the damn horse and to sleep in an actual bed, but she was far from ready to face what awaited her there.

As much as she wanted him to, she couldn’t expect Jamie to be with her every second of every day. He’d be busy, and if, God help her, he had a wife and children waiting for him, he’d be spending what free time he had with them, not her.

But this had been her choice. She could have stayed at Craig na Dun and tried to find a way to get back home, but she hadn’t. She’d walked away, turned her back on her old life, and chosen to stay in 1743. She couldn’t deny that Jamie had been a part of that choice, but she couldn’t hide behind him. She couldn’t rely on him for the rest of her life. She needed to be brave, to face the unknown, and learn how to be herself here.

She was terrified beyond belief, but she had to stand on her own two feet, and be the strong independent woman she knew she was. This wasn’t the first time she’d found herself in a strange environment, and it wouldn’t be the last. She’d either sink or swim, but she wouldn’t know which until she tried.

“It’s…huge.” She settled on when all other adjectives failed her. She’d was going to say beautiful, but that wasn’t true. It was impressive and daunting and she honestly hoped they wouldn’t be staying there too long.

Though where she’d go afterwards she had no idea.

“It’s no my favourite place to be either, lass.” He laughed as he leaned down again to whisper in her ear. “Just remember what I said an’ ye’ll do fine. When Randell’s on his way to the gallows, we’ll leave.”

“How long will that be do you think?” She whispered back.

“A fortnight, maybe less. Depends on Argyll.” He sat back and pulled on the reigns, slowing Donas until they fell toward the back of the group. As they slowed she caught sight of Dougal, his eyes hard, calculating and murderous, as he watched them and she quickly looked away, unable to suppress her shiver.

Working at the hospital, she’d had the opportunity to tend to people from all walks of life. One of those had been a prisoner under guard. From the whispers amongst the staff she’d discovered that he was a suspected serial killer, and she'd seen the same, terrifying look in his eyes as she did Dougals.

Sociopath or psychopath, she wasn’t sure, what she was sure of was that neither she or Jamie were safe so long as they resided at Leoch.

Jamie guided Donas to fall in step with Murtagh where he rode silently at the back of the line, his eyes flicking between Dougal and Randell, who was being lead on foot, tied to the back of Rupert’s horse. He glanced at Jamie, and to her surprise, he smirked. It was the first expression she’d seen on his face since they met, and she realised that beneath his bushy black beard, he wasn’t an unattractive man.

“Vous prendrez soin d'elle quand je ne peux pas?” Jamie asked Murtagh, nodding slightly in her direction. She blinked up at him, surprised by his question and sudden shift in language. He’d told her he’d lived in Paris, so she shouldn’t be surprised that he could speak French. But she was, and she was both alarmed and touched by his request.

Yes, she’d feel safer knowing that someone Jamie trusted would be looking out for her, but what about him? From what she’d observed, it was Jamie’s blood that Dougal truly lusted for. In the grand scheme of things, she was irrelevant.

“Je t'ai dit que je le ferais. Ne vous inquiétez pas. Elle sera en sécurité.” Murtagh sighed with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. It was clear that this wasn’t the first time Jamie had asked him to protect her, but other than last night when he went hunting, she’d neither seen nor heard them taking.

“Promets-moi, Murtagh.” Jamie pushed. “Je ne lui fais pas confiance.”

_No, neither do I!_

“Aye, lad. I promise.” Murtagh answered in English, flicking a curious glance at her. She offered him a small smile of thanks, then turned her head to look up at Jamie.

“Si Murtagh surveiller mon dos, qui va surveiller le tien?” She whispered, startling Jamie and she laughed as he frowned down at her, miffed that he’d been caught out.

“Dinna fash, lass. He’ll no be alone.” Murtagh promised her quietly, drawing her attention back to him. She nodded to him and reached to squeeze Jamie’s hand discreetly.

“Fait attention. Je n'aime pas la façon dont il te regarde.”

 

The sights, sounds and smells of eighteen century life hit her with glaring reality as they passed through the gates into the courtyard of Castle Leoch. It was one thing to believe she’d travelled back in time, but to actually see the evidence before her was shock inducing.

It had been just over forty eight hours since she’d travelled through the stones, but even journeying with a rag-tag bunch of highlanders across the Scottish countryside, she’d been somewhat sheltered from the truth of it. Here she had no such comfort. The blinkers were well and truly ripped from her eye, and they shot two and fro with the wonder of it all.

There was so much to take in that she didn’t know where to look first. A blacksmith drew her attention for a moment, and she watched as he worked the iron, sparks flying from his hammer and landing, alarmingly, amongst the straw at his feet. A fire hazard if ever she’d seen one.

Next to him, a gaffer shard his kiln, twisting a ball of glowing glass amongst the flames. She wanted to sit and watch what he was making, but Donas reared slightly, shying away from a group of children as they ran passed, battling with wooden swords, and she turned sharply to grasp hold of his mane.

“Soirbh, mo giullan,” Jamie soothed him quietly, as he pulled on his reigns and guided him neatly around the fray. Donas snorted and shook his head, seemingly dismissing his master and Claire couldn’t help her own small snort of laughter.

“He takes after you with his stubbornness. I see why you get along so well.”

“Aye, an’ it says a wee bit about ye too, Sassenach, taking to ye as he did.” He laughed as he stopped beside the men and jumped down. He turned to her, one eyebrow raised, and she rolled her eyes and allowed him to lift her down.

“Maybe.” She conceded stubbornly as she turned to scratch at the horses nose. “But I just think that you’ve got good taste in women haven’t you, boy?”

“Dinna coddle him, lass. Ye’ll make him soft.”

“Pot meet kettle.” She huffed playfully giving Donas one last pat and a kiss on his nose.

“If I let ye ride me, will ya kiss me too?” Rupert chortled, surprising her. All the men were in good spirits on returning home, but she was shocked that he’d deigned to speak to her at last.

“Not in this lifetime.” She retorted, as she reached to take her bag from Jamie. But like on that first day, he shook his head and motioned her forward.

“No in the next either.” Jamie added quietly.

Rupert laughed harder, then rushed around her forcing her to stop as he scooped an older, plump woman, up off her feet and spun her around.

“Ach, Rupert ye wee fool. Put me down afore ye break ye back.” She chided, laughing as he jiggled her about before planting her on her feet. “Git on we ye! There’s food in the kitchen, go help yerselves.”

“We’v come baring gifts, Mrs Fitz.” He told her, sobering as he turned her by the shoulders and guided to within feet of Randell.

Mrs Fitz froze, and gasped silently as she clasped her hands over her mouth. Claire wasn’t surprised, Randell was a sight to see. Unable to hold himself up, he was collapsed in a heap on the ground, but his misplaced pride kept his head held high. His nose was swollen to at least twice its size, and his eyes were a horrid purplish blue from where she’d kneed him in the face.

His clothes were caked in mud, sweat and blood, and his wrist were raw where he’d been dragged along at the back of Rupert’s horse. He truly was a pitiful sight, but with all Claire knew about him, she held no sympathy. As far as she was concerned he deserved all he got.

“Bless the lord!” She cried, tears springing to her eyes, as they darted around the gathered men. “Ye caught him! Oh, I’ll sleep in peace t’nite, lads. Ye’v given an old lass a gift for sure.”

“Dinna thank us, Mrs Fitz.” Angus, the Ying to Rupert’s Yang, proclaimed as he passed them and slapped Jamie on the back, “Mac Duh’s wee Sassenach stopped him when she nigh on ripped his bollocks off!” He laughed. She’d heard some of the men refer to Jamie as such, it was almost a sign of respect, and she’d wondered more than once what it meant; she just hadn’t had the nerve or the privacy to ask him.

Mrs. Fitz turned to face them, and noticing Jamie for the first time, she rushed to him and reached up to grab his cheeks. She heard him sigh quietly and had to bite her lip as he reluctantly bent to receive the affections of the mother hen.

“James Fraser! As I live an breath, it’s bin too long Laddie. Let me see ye!” She shoved him back up and held him at arms length as she looked him over. “Aye, I heard of ye woes, an I kept ye in me prays. But I see ye’v come out stronger for em.”

Jamie’s mask was firmly in place, but he smiled at the older woman and squeeze her hand as he carefully distanced himself from her.

“Thank ye, Mrs Fitz. But if I can trouble ye, Mistress Beauchamp is dead on her feet, an’ she’s in need of ye care.” He asked, distracting her and guiding Claire forward to stand before him. She wanted to hit him, or at the very least glare at him, but she couldn’t because she was already under the scrutiny of Mrs Fitz.

As kind as he was being attempting to have her needs seen to, she knew she was being used as a means to pull the attention away from him. She loathed being centre of attention, and the blush that burned to life in her cheeks, was something she supposed she’d have to get used to.

“Ye did all that to Randell?” Mrs Fitz asked her, eyeing her and her strange outfit with suspicion.

“Um…yes. He attacked me and I…um…”

“Yanked his balls off an’ busted his corker!” Rupert cheered, slapping her back so forcefully that she staggered forward towards Mrs Fitz.

Jamie grabbed her, just preventing her from falling, and Mrs Fitz turned sharply and walloped Rupert across the head, much like Jamie had that first night.

“Rupert Mackenzie! Did ye fall on ye head, lad? That no way to treat a lassie! Come mistress, lets get ye washed up and settled.” She soothed, linking her arm through Claires and pulling her towards the castle…and away from Jamie. “Jamie, put her wee bags in the kitchen, I’ll see they get to her room. Then eat, ye’r skin an bone.”

If Jamie, of all people, was skin a bone, what the hell must Mrs Fitz think of her? She glanced around the courtyard, trying to work out if it was the layers of dresses and petticoats that gave all the woman such healthy figures, or whether it was just their natural shape, when Mrs Fits words sank in. Wide eyed, she turned to look at Jamie, and guessing her concerns he swiftly fell into step beside them.

“Dinna fash, Mrs Fitz, ye’v enough to do. Lead the way and I’ll settle her bags for her.” He smiled, flashing Mrs Fitz one of his owlish blinks. “I need to see Himself and wash up before I eat at any rate.”

“Have it ye way.” She huffed, as she frog matched them though the narrow winding passageways of the castle. “Now, Mistress…”

“Please, call me Claire.” She asked quietly, attempting unsuccessfully, to memorise the path they were taking. It was like a maze, and if she ever needed to escape in a hurry, she’d stand no chance.

“Claire it is, and I’m Mrs Fitzgibbons…but ye call me Mrs Fitz, like the lads do, Aye.”

“Thank you, Mrs Fitz.” She smiled, half in love with the motherly woman already.

“Now tell me, Claire, what brings ye all the way to Scotland?”

“She’s here at the request of my da.” Jamie jumped in before Claire could even draw breath, or think of a suitable lie. She’d been wracking her brain throughout the journey, but had come up with nothing that wouldn’t sound suspicious.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and he blinked at her, causing her to bite her lip.

“Mistress Beauchamp’s a fine healer from Oxfordshire, my da had the use of her services when he was last in London. Jenny’ll be having the bairn soon, and wi’ no healer or midwife at Lallybroch, he requested she come.”

“I’m just lucky that Mr Fraser came upon me when he did.” Claire continued, picking up where Jamie had left off, trying desperately not to wonder who Jenny was. “I was travelling with an escort when I was set upon by captain Randell. We were separated.”

“Aye,” Jamie agreed, “but he’s been discharged of his duty now, and I’ll see ye home to Lallybroch once we’ve dealt with the blackguard.”

“Sounds like ye’v had an adventure. But did you no travel with a chest?” She enquired suspiciously as she pushed open the door to a spacious bedroom.

Claire looked around in awe, it was sparse, but larger than her apartment, and a roaring fire was already lit in the grate.

“I was, but we lost a wheel on the cart and Mr Fraser had no means to transport it. My companion will see it mended then take my belongings on to Lallybroch. But unfortunately that means I’m confined to my room for the next while.” She added, forlornly as she fingered her skirt, then eyed Jamie as though embarrassed by his presence.

He smiled at her, then placed her bags on the bed, bowed to the two women and quickly left the room.

It wasn’t right for him to be in her bedchamber after all.

“I was bathing when captain Randell accosted me.” She whispered to Mrs Fitz as though she was afraid that the walls had ears. “I lost my dress in the…confrontation.”

“Ach, I see ye we’re injured, mistress.” Mrs Fitz proclaimed, buying into the story they’d woven, and gently touching her neck, “but are ye…hurt anywhere else?” Claire blinked at her, then realising her meaning, she shook her head.

“No. Thankfully Mr Fraser arrived before he could do any permanent damage.”

“Good. That’s good. Now then.” She smiled, glancing around the room. “Ye rest ye feet a wee while an’ I’ll send for some water an’ find ye some clothes. Himself will want to see ye, an we have the duke coming. Ye’ll need something for the festivities.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> I’ll apologise belatedly…I don’t speak any language other than English so I’m afraid I’m relying on google


	8. Chapter 8

If you asked her about the worst experience of her life, until seven years ago she’d have described the awful night that her uncle lamb had explained about the death of her parents. Until three days ago it would have been the site overseer in Ardnamurchan telling her she’d been made an orphan all over again when Lamb had passed away. Until ten minutes ago she would have shuddered and recalled that awful moment that she’d touched the stone at the top of Craig na Dun, but all would pale in comparison to this.

The pressure on her chest was so intense that she quite literally couldn’t breathe. She was drowning on dry land, trying to draw in oxygen that wasn’t hers to take, and she knew with absolute certainty that this was how she was going to die. She blinked, trying to clear her vision, and bit her bottom lip so hard she could taste blood. She’d made the mistake of attempting to inhale normally at first, and the pain had been so profound that she almost blacked out. So now she was lightheaded and seeing stars as she tired to take small shallow breaths.

_Jesus fucking Christ!_

It was no wonder that the woman of this era were known as the weaker sex. They were weakened by a profound lack of oxygen, and crushed internal organs: all in the name of beauty.

“There now.” Mrs Fitz smiled as she completed her torture and stepped back to admire her work. “Ye waist is so tiny that I dinna think we’d find one to fit. If is wasn’t fo’ ye breast, ye no need a corset at all.”

One at a time, she peeled her numb fingers from the bedpost and turned to face the beaming matron. Any love she was developing for the older woman was lost with her first painful tug on the laces, and she tried her hardest to smile, rather than going on a murderous rampage.

“Thank you, Mrs Fitz. I couldn’t have managed it alone.” She told her, breathlessly, but truthfully. There was no way on earth that she could have subjected herself to such agony.

“Aye, t’is nay bother lass.” She smiled patting Claires hand. “My, but ye a bonny one, an ye skin! T’is like spun glass.”

Claire blushed under her praise and turned to look at herself in the mirror for the first time. Staring back at her, all wide eyes and flushed skin, was a girl she barely recognised. Most days when she looked in the mirror, she was met with a bleary eyes med student, clad in scrubs and running shoes, with her wild curls barely contained in a haphazard bun.

On days where she made an effort, she’d usually find herself in skinny jeans and flowing tops, or the occasional dress or skirt when the weather was hot. Today however, she looked almost regal, encased as she was in a heavy woollen dress, made up of rich green and blue tartan.

Her waist, as Mrs Fitz has rightly pointed out, had always been tiny, but now it was clenched so tight that she was sure, if he tried, Jamie’s hands could span it easily. Her backside, that she always struggled to get in her jeans, was thankfully disguised by the bum roll and layers of material that covered her lower half. Her breast on the other hand, might be a problem.

“Um..” she glanced at Mrs Fitz in the mirror and gestured self-consciously to her chest. She’d never had a problem with them before, they were neither too small or too large, or they hadn’t seemed to be until now. But the corset had pushed them up so high that she truly feared for her modesty. They were like two huge grapefruits balancing precariously just below her chin.

“I wasna sure ye’d need it, but aye, I’ll find ye a tucker.” She chuckled, as she pulled out the stool and gestured for Claire to take a seat before the dressing table. “Ye hairs as bonny as ye face.”

“Thank you and thank you for helping me, Mrs Fitz, truly. I appreciate it more than you know.” She smiled genuinely as she sat ramrod strait on the stool. One thing was for sure, she’d never have issues with her posture again.

“Nay, lass. T’was the least I could do.” The older woman whispered as she grabbed a brush and gently pulled it though Claires still damp hair. “What ye did to Randell, he…me sisters boy…Young Alick. He’s no but thirteen…an’ he…” She dropped the brush onto the dressing table and hastily pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve. It took Claire a moment to put Mrs Fitz words together with Jamie’s from two days earlier, but when she did, her stomach rolled and her hands flew up to cover her mouth.

_Oh, dear God!_

Sanding as quickly as she could, she approached Mrs Fitz and pulled her into her arms. Her reaction to seeing Randell in the court yard earlier, now made perfect sense. The sick bastard had raped her nephew, and Claire had no idea how Mrs Fitz hadn’t just murdered him there and then. Had it be any member of her family, she’s wasn’t sure she could have restrained herself.

“Oh, Mrs Fitz I’m so sorry.” She whispered, squeezing her as tightly as she could. “Is he hurt very badly? Do you need me to tend to him?”

As the words left her mouth, Joe’s warning came to mind, and the sense of helplessness that hit her was almost overwhelming. Yes, she had the training and the medicine available to help young Alick, and any number of people here at Leoch, yet she could use neither. Not only would she be burned for witchcraft, but her resources were limited and she just couldn’t spare them, no matter how much she wanted too. Joe had given them to her for reasons yet unknown, and for the first time in her life, Claire truly had to be selfish.

“Ye too kind, Claire.” Mrs Fitz murmured as she pulled back and wiped her eyes, “but he’s doin’ better. In body at least. He’s no the same boy though, willna even leave the house, save for when he’s made to.”

“That’s hardly surprising.” She agreed sadly, as she sat back before the mirror, giving Mrs Fitz a moments privacy.

God, she hated herself. Withholding care went against everything she believed in, everything she was taught. Yet, what could she do?

Mrs Fitz thought he was healing, but Claire alone knew that as his physical wounds healed, there was a real chance that other, unseen, yet more serious complications could be developing. From what Jamie had told her, Randell was a serial rapist, so God alone knows what kind of STI’s he may be carrying. Most could be eradicated with a quick dose of penicillin, but even if she could find a way to discreetly administer it to the lad. What of the next child, or the next, or the next that came down with a life threatening illness?

If she stared now, where would she draw the line?

Despite herself, she couldn’t prevent her eyes from flicking to the place beneath her bed, where she’d hidden her medical bags.

When Mrs Fitz had first left her alone in the bedchamber, with a promise to be back soon with warm water and a change of clothes, Claire had panicked. She’d read enough books, and learned enough about the era from Joe, to correctly assume that the matron intended to help her dress. Having never been naked in front of _anyone_ before, she was mortified by the prospect of barring all to a complete stranger. But beyond that, she was acutely aware of the fact that she was wearing underwear.

Twenty first century underwear.

Her clothing was easily explained away as strange petticoats from London, but she seriously doubted they wore lacy boy-shorts and matching bras. Rushing around, she’d quickly removing her bra and knickers and shoved them haphazardly into her bag, before swallowing two ibroprofen, and searching desperately for a place to hide everything.

It was by pure chance that she’d discovered the loose floorboard beneath the bed. She’d been on her hands and knees, attempting to shove the bags as far back as she could, when she leant on it and it wobbled. The one beside it hadn’t been loose, but she’d managed to work it free enough squeeze her bags inside.

The call to retrieve them and rush to help young Alick was strong, but she had to ignore it. If she gave in, she’d get herself killed, and if she died Joe and his whole family would cease to exist. Feeling the tug of the brush on her hair, she took a shallow breath and turned her eyes back to Mrs Fitz.

“If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.” She implored. She had the medical know how, so all she needed to become the great healer Jamie had announced to to be, was the knowledge of available resources.

Tonight she would begin studying the book Joe had sent, and tomorrow she’d go foraging.

With the length of time it had taken to wash, dress and arrange her hair, Claire had no time to rest before she was all but dragged from her room and lead deeper into the bowels of the castle. Callum had sent word via a pretty blonde girl, Laoghaire, that he was awaiting her presence in the dining hall, and all hell broke loose.

Laoghaire took the brunt of it. But with the fuss that Mrs Fitz made, you’d think she was to attend an audience with the king. After barking orders at the young maid, she’d whipped off her own tucker, and swiftly arranged it around the neckline of Claire’s gown, shoved the last of the pins painfully into the nest of curls atop her head, grabbed her by the arm and pulled her from the room.

Her head was still spinning, and she was fighting for breath by the time they stopped at the top of a wide, open staircase. Mrs Fitz continued her flapping, twisting curls around her fingers, batting imaginary dust off her dress, pinching her cheeks, and it did nothing to stem the riot of butterflies in her stomach.

She was just about to beg her to stop, when a calming hand landed on Mrs Fritz’s arm, stilling her.

“Quit ye fashin’, woman. The poor lass’ rattled enough, aye?” Murtagh huffed as he succeeded in separating the two women, and Claire breathed a small sigh of relief.

The older woman’s nerves were reeking havoc on her own, bringing forth all Jamie’s warnings about the Laird and fuelling her rising panic. She was beginning to wonder what the hell she’d gotten herself into, and whether or not she could find her way back to Craig na Dun on her own.

“Ach, Murtagh. Be away wit’ ye man. She’s to go before Himself an…”

“Aye, I ken. An’ I’ll see her there meself.”

_Oh thank God!_

Jamie had said he was going to eat after he’d spoken to Callum, and she was hoping beyond hope that she’d see him upon entrance to the dinning hall. While that was still the case, she felt a measure of calm from simply knowing she wouldn’t be walking in there alone, and she had to hold herself back from throwing her arms around Murtagh in thanks.

“As ye like.” Mrs Fitz huffed in response, “if ye need out Claire, ye come find me, aye?”

“I will, and thank you again, Mrs Fitz.” She assured her, having no idea where she’d even begin to look for the older woman, but grateful nonetheless.

Mrs Fitz waved her away, and with a dramatic swish of skirts, turned and hurried off down the hallway. Claire took a breath, and turned to look up at Murtagh. She couldn’t help her smile. Though nowhere near as tall as Jamie, he still towered over her, but the sullen, forbidding look she expected to see was absent as he watched Mrs Fitz scurry away.

“She’s got more energy than a toddler on a sugar high.” Claire laughed lightly, as she took over the other woman’s fussing of her skirts. Even with Murtagh presence she was still nervous, and she suddenly had no idea what to do with her hands.

“Aye, an’ God love her for it.” He agreed looking down at her. “She’s a worrier, but she’s right about Mackenzie. Best no keep him waiting.”

“Right.” Claire nodded and with a trembling hand, she took the arm that Murtagh offered her. “Where’s Jamie?”

“He’s about…an’ safe dinna fash.” He assured her with a small smile as he guiding her forward and down the first step into crowded room.

It took a moment, but like the preverbal quiet before the storm, a hush fell over the crowd as Murtagh led her between the two rows of benches and on towards the table at the front. It was risen on a stage of sorts and seated at its centre, on a throne like chair, was whom she’d presumed was Callum Mackenzie.

It was only her medical training, and the near constant afflictions she saw at the hospital, that prevented her reacting when she first laid eyes on him. As she walked slowly by Murtagh side, her mind flirted through an arsenal of ways in which she could maim Jamie Bloody Fraser.

Mrs Fitz and Murtagh were on her shit list too.

Of the few things they’d said to her about Callum Mackenzie, she’d have expected _this_ to be amongst them. Something as simple as _don’t stare_ would have sufficed. Because even from this distance she could see the rare, yet obvious signs of Pycnodysostosis and her heart went out to him.

She could only just make out his disfigured legs beneath the table, but there were other signs of the condition that she could see clearly. She may have missed them if she hadn’t studied Pycnodysostosis as one of the rare conditions she’d needed for her finals. But from hours examining photographs and case reports, she recognised them.

His enlarged forehead, sunken cheeks and protruding nose were amongst those markers, and she wanted to weep for the near constant pain this man must have suffered all his life. That he had survived so long in this era was miraculous, but to hold such a prominent position of power? That alone spoke of the mind that must be at work behind the shrewd eyes that were studying her so closely.

Murtagh stopped just before the table, and after offering the Laird a shallow bow, he gestured to Claire. It was clear that the disrespect he held for Dougal, also extended to his brother and Claire was awed by his bravery, surrounded as they were by Mackenzie men.

“Callum Mackenzie, Mistress Claire Beauchamp, an honoured guest of clan Fraser.” Murtagh announced prompting Claire to drop a polite curtsy. Thanks to Joe, she knew enough about eighteenth century Scottish customs, to understand that Murtagh had just declared her under their protection.

Any slight or injury to her, was a slight to his clan. It gave her a small sense of comfort, and while it still hurt to breathe, the air seemed to draw easier into her lungs.

“MiLaird.”

“Mistress Beauchamp, seems ye’v caused quite a stir.” He announced, loud enough for the gathering to hear. “I’ve heard about ye more than once in the past hours. But ye welcome to Castle Leoch, come sit. Ye’r a guest of clan Mackenzie now, too an I’ll no have ye starve.”

He gestured to one of the empty seat to his left, and with a quick glance at Murtagh, hoping he’d come to her rescue, she released his arm and slowly rounded the table. That Callum hadn’t even acknowledged the other man, hadn’t gone unnoticed and, as he offered her a small reassuring smile then turned to leave, she was left wonder what had gone on between them.

A servant pulled out her chair and she sat carefully, silently cursing the damn corset as it dug into her ribs. Callum was right, she was starving, but while the eighteenth century banquette looked and smelled delicious, between her nerves and her clothing she had no idea how she would eat.

“Wine?” Callum offered, lifting a decanter and hovering it over her glass.

“Yes, please.”

After the last few days she needed a drink almost as much as she needed oxygen, so when her glass was full she lifted it gratefully and offered Callum a small toast before taking a welcoming sip.

Besides introducing her to his wife Letitia and son Hamish, Callum remained mostly silent as they ate. But as one glass of wine turned to two, and two to three, his inquisition started.

“I hear ye from Oxfordshire?” He inquired as she took the first sip of her third glass. Unfortunately for him, wine was a staple part of her diet, and it would take more than two glasses to loosen her tongue. Regardless, she placed it down and turned to offer him a small smile.

“Yes.”

“What brings an English lass all the way to Scotland?”

“Employment. I’m a healer and with no husband, when my uncle passed away, I was left to fend for myself. I go where the work takes me.” She explained, pushing away her half eaten meal.

She may still have her mental faculties in order, and a basic tale to tell, but she had absolutely no idea of the inner working of Jamie’s family. If Callum pushed her she’d stumble. That his father had sent for her was simple enough, but she didn’t even know his name, and she had absolutely no idea who Jenny was.

She felt sick and she clasped her sweaty palms in her lap, trying to hide their shaking.

“An’ where was it takin ye’ this time? Surely its’s no safe for a young lass to be travelling so far alone?” He pushed and while his tone wasn’t unkind, she could sense the sly manipulation Jamie had warned her about just simmering beneath the surface.

He was attempting to corner her, to find the holes in her story and if she wasn’t careful he’d do just that.

“To Lallybroch,” she smiled just stopping herself from reaching for the wine. “But I wasn’t travelling alone. I still retain a man servant and maid. Mr Fraser sent them on with my belongings, once they’ve managed to fix the cart. It lost a wheel.”

“Ah, t’is fortunate that ye crossed paths is it no? Of all the places in all the land…”

_Bollocks!_

“I wouldna say that.” A deep voice contradicted from beside her, and her head whipped around to see Jamie stood behind the last free chair. “As ye ken, uncle, I was on my way to meet Mistress Beauchamp when I happened upon Douglas party an’ offered to join the search.”

Unable to help herself, she gaped up at him, unsure whether she was more relieved or shocked at his appearance. All she knew in that moment was that he’d been sent to try her, and that she’d never seen a man more beautiful.

She wasn’t the only one that had bathed and redressed apprently. Jamie towered over her clad in full, clean, highlander dress, with his Fraser plaid draped proudly over his shoulder and clasped with a shiny silver broach. His red hair was now tied back in a neat braid, and he’d shaved, the lack of stubble only highlighting his handsome face.

_Fuck me!_

“Aye, ye did say that.” Callum agreed as Claire gave in and reached for the wine. “Perhaps it was just fortunate that ye came across her when ye did.”

“Aye, for Randell at least.” He laughed, taking the glass from Claire and placing it back on the table. “But if ye’ll excuse us, I’v need of Mistress Beauchamp’s services. Young Willie’s taken a fall.”

Before he’d even finished speaking, Claire was already pushing her chairs back, aided by Jamie, and was on her feet in the next second, thanking Callum and saying goodnight.

“What’s happened?” She asked as she followed him out of the dining hall and up the stairs, trying her hardest to keep up with his long strides.

He remained silent as he lead her down one passageway and then the next, until he came to a narrow staircase and gestured for her to go before him. She was winded, and fighting a stitch as she climbed, and was ready to snap when he eventually spoke.

“Nothin’, but he’s a wily bastard, he’ll have ye tripin’ over ye tongue before ye ken what’s he’s about. I wanted to speak with ye before he did, but I didna have a chance.” He explained as he stopped before a door and pushed it open.

Murtagh stood straight and silent outside of it, and she smiled at him, realising that he must have sent Jamie to rescue her. The quiet man was slowly growing on her.

“Murtagh sent for you?” She voiced her throughs as she looked around the small sitting room. It was similar to her bedchamber, but instead of a bed, it had a sofa and two chairs positioned before the fire.

“Aye.”

“I didn’t see you in the dinning hall. Have you eaten?” She asked, turning to face him as he closed and bolted the door.

“I had a bite in the kitchen.”

“Good.”

“I ken it isna right for us to be alone like this, but I thought this better than ye bedchamber, an Murtagh will keep watch.” He apologised clearly concerned for her reputation. If she was honest she hadn’t even given it a thought, with him looking like he did, she was more concerned for her virtue, and she was just glad she hadn’t had any more wine.

She was likely to jump him if she had.

“It’s fine, we need to talk. I just wish you’d said something earlier, and I could have gotten my things from my room. I need to change your bandage.”

“T’is through there, Sassenach.” He laughed lightly, his blue eyes shining, as he pointed to a door in the corner. “Ye lost ye way already?”

“Lost it?” She huffed, striding over to the door, “I never had it to begin with.”


	9. Chapter 9

Jamie watched with an odd mixture of elation and bittersweet longing as she disappeared around the door with a swish of skirts and bouncing curls. He couldn’t deny, even to himself, that she was by far the most beautiful lass he’d ever laid eyes on, nor could he deny that he wanted her.

Lord God did he want her.

He’d known her for all of two days and knew nothing of her, her life, or the time she’d belonged to, but for all the world, it felt like two lifetimes since he’d first seen her by the falls. He was in awe of her. She was stronger, braver, and more intelligent than most men he knew, yet while she hid it well, underneath it all she was as fragile as a soap bubble. His need to shelter and care for her had been irrefutable from the start, and he’d sworn himself as her protector, despite the pain it caused him to know that was all he would ever be.

All he could ever be.

He sighed, and scrubbed wearily at his face. The sooner they left Leoch behind the better. She would be safe at Lallybroch, out from under the watchful eyes of the Mackenzie’s, and given unto the care of his family. There he could distance himself from her, immerse himself in his duties, and get on with the life he’d long since chosen for himself.

“Fucking stupid bastard dress!” She suddenly growled from the next room, drawing Jamie from his thoughts, and his position still stood by the hallway door. Knowing he shouldn’t, yet not caring a wit, he rushed into her bedchamber and froze, choking on his laughter.

All he could see of her was the high curve of her torturous arse, and her wee feet peaking out from beneath her skirts. The rest of her was wedged under the bed and, from the looks of it, she was stuck.

“Stop laughing and help me!” She begged, her breathless voice tinged with her own laughter. “I can’t breath and I can’t get out because of this stupid…”

“Bastard dress. Aye, I heard ye the first time.” He chuckled as he crossed the room to stand behind her. “Why are ye under there in the first place?”

“Jamie!” She cried, “Stop talking and help before I asphyxiate.”

Temptation reared it’s ugly head, teasing him with the chance to touch her again. But no matter how much he longed to feel her body under his hands, he couldn’t risk it. Instead he bent and lifted the heavy wooden bed just enough for her to shimmy herself free. She crawled back and sat panting in a heap on the floor, her hair in a riot of curls, as she clutched her chest and glared up at him.

“Without meaning to offend your sensibilities, I’m telling you now, if you don’t help me out of this bloody corset, I’m cutting it off.” She hissed holding up a small pair of silver scissors.

His heart lurched in his chest, and he dropped the bed and took a step back.

Jesus God, she was trying to kill him. It was bad enough that she’d nestled against him, half naked, for two days straight. But she’d had the presence of the men to protect her then. Alone, as they were now in her bedchamber, he couldn’t even promise himself not to ravish her, he was teetering too close to the edge to see reason.

“Sassenach…”

“Don’t Sassenach me! I mean it, Jamie, I can’t breathe, I’m suffocating and I think I’ve cracked a rib.” Her pain was clear in her depths of her warm whiskey eyes, and combined with the slight tremble of her bottom lip, he broke and moved back towards her.

Aching bollocks be damned.

“Easy, lass.” He soothed, as he placed one large hand beneath her arm and gently guided her to her feet. “Tell me what ye need.”

“Please, just loosen it a bit so I can breathe? I can do rest myself later.” She whispered as she gazed up at him, pleadingly. In that moment, just like at the foot of Craig na Dun, he’d have done anything, if only she’d asked, no matter how wrong it was.

“Aye. Turn around.” He breathed, touching her shoulder and encouraging her to move. She did so, slowly turning her back to him, and pulling the stray curls out of his way.

“When your done, we can have a conversation about your propensity for lifting heavy items while injured.” She teased, looking at him over her shoulder. She raised one enticing eyebrow as she chastised him, and all his blood ran south.

“Ye’r a hard woman to please, Sassenach.” He groaned as he untied the bow at the waist of her dress. “Ordering me to help, then grouching at me for doin’ so.”

“Hardly. There _was_ an easier way of getting me out of there that wouldn’t have included reopening your wound.”

“Aye.” He agreed then fell silent, unable to speak, as he parted her dress. The skin of her upper back was smooth, pale and just begging to be caressed, with his hands, lips and teeth. His whole body shuddered with the imagining of it, and his hands shook with restraint as he reached in for the laces of her stays.

There were so many reason he shouldn’t be doing this, and so many ways he wished to continue and undress her completely. She was delicate perfection and he longed to savour every inch of her. To spend days and weeks, years even, exploring the hills and valleys of her body. To make her his, mind, body and soul.

But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, and besides, she was in pain. Taking a deep breath, attempting to clear his mind and ease away his cock-stand, he began the arduous task of freeing her, as much as he was able.

He worked quickly, taking the stays out a good inch or so, while he mentally recited the Greek alphabet. It was doing the job of distracting him, until the last stitch was loosened, and she moaned softly with relief. He clenched his jaw and quickly backed away, least he grab her to him and do all the things his body craved.

“Better?” He asked needlessly, his voice hoarse and thick with desire.

“Much, thank you.” She breathed, turning around to smile up at him. “They’re going to take some getting used to.”

“Ye, dinna normally wear one?” He asked without thinking. The topic of conversation was almost as inappropriate as his presence in her room, and it was doing nothing to ease his need.

“No.” She smiled, squeezing his arm and then moving away. He wanted to drag her back, to hold her against him and bite those teasing lips, “Well some women still chose to, but not many. We have other means of…support now.” She blushed as she bent and retrieved her wee bag.

He’d been acutely aware of her lack of stays during their journey on horse back, and would have been blind not to notice that her breasts had been secured despite the lack of undergarments. But even through the thick layers of plaid, he could feel her ribs and had known they were bare.

“No the strangest thing ye’v told me.” He admitted, attempting to change the subject as he watched her gently wrap herself in his mothers plaid.

She sighed with pleasure at its homecoming, and his heart constricted. How she had come to own it he doubted he’d ever truly understand. But seeing the way she touched it so lovingly, and knowing that it would shelter her when he could not, filled him with warmth and sadness.

It was as though it had been made for her alone, that he was only its temporary minder until it made its way through time to its rightful owner.

“No, I don’t suppose it is.” She laughed, glancing over to him through her long, dark eyelashes. “Are you okay? Have you hurt yourself?” She frowned moving toward him, her delicate hand outstretched.

That she meant to touch his body, to check the site of the wound, was clear, but he reached for it, stopping her as he gently grasped it in his. He revealed in the feel of her skin, soft and cool as he unthinkingly brought it up to his lips and bestowed a gentle kiss on the back of her hand.

“Nay, lass. Just woolgathering.” He assured her, gently squeezing and releasing her hand. Her face was upturned, her eyes heavy and wanton with desire, her lips slightly parted and begging to be kissed.

It was the same looked she’d given him at the foot of Craig na Dun, the one that had nigh on unmanned him. But as much as he longed to give in and consume her lips with his, he stepped back and motioned to the sitting room door.

“Shall we?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” She blinked and turned hastily to leave the room. Guilt consumed him. Though unintentional, he was confusing her. His warring emotions, toying with hers. It would be best for both of them if he kept his distance, and as hard as that would be, he’d do it, for her if not for himself. But it was a task that would be so much easier if he wasn’t already falling in love with her.

_You’re a damn fool Jamie Fraser!_

He sighed and followed her into the sitting room. She was kneeling on the floor between the sofa and the fire place, and she glanced up at him fleetingly before patting the cushions in invitation.

“You don’t need to remove your shirt this time. Just untuck it and move any other clothing out of the way before you lie down.” She instructed, as she coated her hands with the strange alcohol. “While I work, you can tell me what you wanted to talk to me about.”

“Aye.” He nodded as he unbuttoned his waistcoat and pulled his shirt out of his kilt. “I thought ye should ken what I’d told Callum.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. I realised as he was questioning me that I didn’t even know your fathers name, never mind how I might have come to treat him.”

“Brian.” Jamie answered as he sat on the sofa and turned to lie down. “Brian Robert David Campbell Fraser.”

“That’s a lot of names.” She laughed, rising on her knees and turning to face him. “Do you have so many?” His breath caught and he momentarily forgot how to speak as she placed a gentle hand flat on his stomach. She was holding his skin taunt as she pulled at the bandage that was stuck over his wound. It was cool to the touch, but it’s mere presence was like being struck by lightening, and he burned for her.

“Aye.” He croaked and cleared his throat, “James Alexander Malcom Mackenzie Fraser.”

“And your mother’s a Mackenzie? Sister to Dougal and Callum?” She guessed, as she pulled off the smaller strips and placed them on top of the bandages on the floor.

“She was. She died when I was a wee lad.”

She looked up at him, her eyes loaded with compassion and understanding, and smiled sadly.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. “No matter how old you are, you never truly get over loosing a parent.”

“Ye’v the right of it there.” He agreed looking down at his stomach as she turned to fetch something from her bag. It truly was like magic. The wound that had been gaping open not two days ago, looked healed, though he knew it wasn’t. There was no angry red skin, no swelling or stitches. Just a clean line where his blood had once oozed.

“It’s looking good.” She told him, opening the wee packet that she’d said held an alcohol wipe. “But you’ve been lucky. Please try not to do any heavy lifting, the glue can only do so much.”

“I’ll try.” He smirked as she wiped the area with the cold cloth. She rolled her eyes and tore open one of the sticky bandages.

“So when was your dad last in London, and what did I treat him for?”

“About a half year ago. He claims he’s as healthy as a horse, but I ken his heart bothers him. Pains him sometimes I think.” She stopped what she was doing and looked up at him.

“Will you have a chance to see him soon? Or to write to him?” She asked her voice suddenly serious as her concerned eyes held his.

“Aye, I’v had word that he’ll arrive in three days time.”

“Good. I need to examine him. Hopefully it’s something and nothing, but you can never be too careful with the heart.” She explained as she covered the wound with the bandage and pulled his shirt down.

“I’ll make sure he comes to see ye.” He nodded as he stood to tuck in his shirt and rebutton his waistcoat, “Thank ye, Sassenach.”

“Your welcome.” He watched as she cleaned up the space, tossed the rubbish in the fire and coated her hands in alcohol again. She was quiet, working unthinkingly as she chewed on her bottom lip, deep in thought. “Who’s Jenny?” She asked hesitantly, refusing to look at him as she placed everything back in her bag and took out the wee camera.

“My sister.” He answered as he sat back on the sofa, regarding her carefully. Her head whipped around and he was almost undone by the look of relief on her face.

_Ah, lass. It make no difference who Jenny is. She’s no the reason I’v to love ye from afar._

“So you’re to be an uncle?” She smiled, climbing to her feet and moving to sit beside him.

“Twice over. She’s marrit to my best friend Ian Murray. They already have a bairn, wee Jamie’s almost two now, and he’s the devil incarnate.” He laughed, picturing the small boy and his mischievous antics.

“Like his namesake?”

“Aye. I was a horrible child.”

“Is there just the two of you?” She asked, as she shifted and tucked her feet up beneath her on the sofa. It was a strange way to sit, but she seem comfortable, so he turned his body slightly towards her, relaxing himself.

“Now there is. We had an elder brother Willie. He died of small pox when he was twelve. Our wee brother Robert passed with me mam in childbed.” He explained, his heart constricting with the profound memories of loss.

Some more recent than others.

“I’m so sorry, Jamie.” She whispered, reaching out to squeeze his hand. He turned it, and closed his fingers around hers, taking comfort where he shouldn’t, but helpless to stop himself.

“The day we met, me and the men were on our way to Beaufort.” He diverted, moving onto a less painful conversation, but keeping her hand firmly in his, “So they ken well that I wasna journeying to meet with ye. Dougals men ken no such thing, an’ are happy to believe what I say. I told Callum we were to meet on the road to Inverness, but ye’d stopped to wash after ye’d lost the wheel. That’s when Randell accosted ye.”

“That’s simple enough. Is there anything else I need to know?” There was so much he wanted to tell her. He wanted to sit for hours and detail his life, explain the choices he’d made and the reasons they could never be more than this. If she asked him outright, he couldn’t lie to her, she’d find out soon enough regardless. But some were painful tales that, while not secret, he’d never spoken of, and wasn’t ready to do so now.

Others he kept to his breast for purely selfish reasons. She liked him for who he was, and he wasn’t ready for that to change. She’d treat him differently once she knew, and he wanted to savour his last few days of freedom.

“Nay, Sassenach. Not right now.”

“Okay. Well would you like to see some photographs? I promised to show you Frank after all.” She asked smiling over at him, and squeezing his hand again.

“Aye, I would.”

Her smile lit the whole room, and stilled his heart as she shuffled closer to him and brought her wee contraption to life.

“Okay, so while we have more time and privacy,” she winked. “I can tell you about this. It’s called an iPhone. In 1856 a man named Alexander Bell will invent the first telephone. It’s a device that’s connected by wires, that go from homes and stretch across the county on tall poles, to what’s called an exchange. It a place where people worked connecting the wires from one home to another.

“The purpose of it is for people that are miles away from each other to be able to speak. Sound travels down the wires and you can have a conversation with anyone, anywhere, at anytime.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but too stunned and lost for words he snapped it shuts again. Claire laughed and that simple sound made his heart tump painfully in his chest.

“Go on.” He managed to choke out, disbelievingly.

“I can show you a rudimentary example at some point.” She promised, fuelling his enthusiasm. “But on to this. Now it gets a bit more…unbelievable, but bare with me. Now the iPhone is what’s known as a mobile telephone. Rather than using wires, it transmits sound waves to…shit why did I start this?” She huffed a laugh, “Okay, we have what’s knows as satellites, up in space.” She sighed pointing up to the ceiling.

He looked up frowning and she shook her head, tugged on his hand, and all but dragged him to the window.

“Up there.” She explained, pointing to the stars. “I can tell you a hundred different things about space. How man has walked on the moon, how there are nine planets similar to earth that circle the sun, or how every star is actually a sun with its own planets circling it. But that’s not the point of this lesson.”

“Wait!” He gasped looking from her to the stars and back again, his mind a whirl of wonder and amazement. “Man has walked on the moon?”

“Yes. In 1969.”

“A dia!”

“Indeed, but the point is, we’ve sent hundreds if not thousands of satellites up there, that sit in earths orbit and are used for all kind of things.” She explained, pulling him back towards the couch. “One of them is to bounce sound waves. If I want to speak to someone…anywhere in the world…I put their individual telephone number into this,” She explained holding up the iPhone, “And we can talk, because of the satellites.”

“I dinna understand it a bit, Sassenach.” He laughed, shaking his head.

“Neither do I really. I know the basics of how it works obviously, but not the mechanics of it.” She shrugged as through she hadn’t just shifted his entire world. “So that’s what it was originally invented for. The photographs and music are just a couple of the added benefits if you like.”

“I still canna get my head around them either, lass.” He huffed making her laugh again, “But go on and show me.”

She smiled at him and moved closer still as she tapped at the glass and showed him the photograph of the two of them from Tuesday. He stared at it, still amazed by the wonder of it all, but as he reached out and touched it, the images changed and his hand snapped back.

“It’s okay. To work the phone you touch the screen. If you do it like you just did it will flick through each photograph. That’s the last one I took in 2018. It’s of Joe and Gail.” He looked with surprise at the images of her friend, but as he open his mouth to speak, her eyes widened and she clasped her hand over his mouth.

“Don’t you dare say what I think you’re about to.” She warned, slowly removing her hand. “Joe’s from a mixed heritage. His mums white and from Scotland and his dads black and from Jamaica. That’s normal in 2018. The slave trade was abolished in England in 1807 and for decades people from all nationalities have equal standing, as they should. The N word is strictly forbidden in my hearing range.”

“As ye say, Sassenach,” He laughed, licking his lips, “But before ye got ye dander up, I was goin’ to say that I couldna see his face clearly.”

“Oh.”

“Aye.”

Her lips twitched, but she huffed indignantly and moved onto another photograph.

“That’s me and Joe taken a few days ago.”

He took the iPhone from her and stared with awe at the photograph. She was sat in the grass beside her friend, her long hair tumbling down around her shoulders as she laughed with delight. Her beauty was captured perfectly and she looked so happy, happier than he’d seen her thus far.

But what really captured his attention was her legs. They were bare, from her wee feet up to her thighs, which were just covered with short pants. They were magnificent. Long and shapely, smooth and sun kissed. He should have been mortified at seeing them, but he could do naught but imagine them wrapped tightly around his waist.

His traitorous body reacted to the sight and he shifted restlessly on the chair.

“Where are ye skirts, Sassenach?” He asked, trying to swallow through his dry throat.

“Oh. I’m wearing shots, women don’t really wear longs skirts so much anymore.” She blushed leaning over him to quickly move onto the next image. She was close, too close, and he was all too aware of her proximity to his cock.

“That’s Frank.”

He blinked, realising he was looking at her and not the glass, and quickly cast his eyes down to the photograph. His jaw dropped and he moved the iPhone closer to his face.

“Jesus God.” He exclaimed as Claire pushed his hands back and used her fingers to make the image of Franks face larger. “He’s…”

“I know. I mean, I can see the differences now, but in the heat of the moment, you can see why I presumed Randell was him.”

“Aye, I can. I’v never seen the like.” They really could have been the same person, the differences were so subtle. But if you looked close enough, they were there. “Ye said the apple had no fallen far from the tree. He never…he didna ever hurt ye…”

“No. He watched and he made…unwanted advances, but he never hurt me.” She reassured him, through the thought of him watching her made Jamie’s blood boil in his veins.

They spent a while longer looking through the photographs, as she spoke, and he listened to her soft voice, as she remembered moments and explained some more about her twenty first century life. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how it must be for her. She’d left everything she knew and loved behind, and found herself alone in a strange land.

That she hadn’t wailed and taken to her bed was something to be admired. That she’d done the complete opposite, and embraced this new life, asked for guidance and promised compliance, had left Jamie well and truly in awe of her.

As she spoke, she’d moved closer and closer, and the moment she rested her head on his shoulder will be a moment he’d remember for the rest of his life. He shifted, and wrapped his arm around her, offering her what little comfort he could, and selfishly taking his own from her.

The photographs were all but forgotten, the iPhone discarded, as they sat talking and laughing softly, sharing memories of their childhoods. The dying fire was the only light in the room, and it created a cocoon of warmth and comfort, deepening their intimacy.

“Je suis prest.” She whispered, raising a hand and gently running her finger across the words on his broach. “I am ready. You’re clan motto?”

“Aye.” He whispered back, glancing down at her. She was looking up at him, nestled snuggly against his side. Her hair had tumbled down, too heavy for the pins to hold, and it framed her beautiful face in soft shiny waves.

He was almost overcome by the tenderness of the moment, and unthinking, he reached over and gently cupped her face. She sighed quietly as his thumb traced the soft pillow of her lips, and he licked his own, as though he could already taste her as her eyes implored him to kiss her.

“Claire.” He breathed, knowing he shouldn’t, but unable to stop himself, as he twisted his body around to hers. Her hand came up into his hair and he groaned softly and closed his eyes. “I shouldna, but God help me I want to kiss ye.”

“Then kiss me.”

He hesitated, his mind warring with his body, as he opened his eyes and looked down at her. He was lost, and with a quiet moan of defeat, he lifted her chin and gently captured her lips with his own.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW - mild warning!

His lips were like silk as they caressed hers, soft and gently, in the infancy of their exploration. But as though touched by a bolt of lightening, Claire’s whole body burst into flames, and she could do nothing to hold back the low moan that built in her throat.

Jamie groaned quietly in response, and his gentle exhale infused the air between them with the warm, sweet scent of whiskey. Tentatively, she parted her lips, encouraging him to deepen the kiss, yet too nervous to do it herself. For reasons unknown, he was more hesitant that she was, but he responded, tightening his hold on her, and pulling her body flush against his, as she felt the first soft brush of his tongue.

Hers came out to meet his, and they both sighed, melting in to each other, deeply, slowly, exchanging souls in a kiss that seemed to have no end. It was everything she’d dreamt it would be and yet nowhere near enough.

His hands roamed slowly, touching her back, her hair, her face, and she responded in kind, touching him everywhere she could reach. What had begun as soft and tender, quickly became passionate and heated. With their lips fused together, their tongues danced and twisted, met and retreated, as he explored the warm wetness of her mouth, and she his.

She’d _never_ been kissed like this before, the feelings he was evoking within her, were all consuming, washing her away on a tide of desire and she never wanted it to end. So slowly that she hardly noticed, he repositioned them, sliding her backwards on the couch and taking his rightful place between her parted legs.

Even through the layers that separated them she could feel his cock, hard and ready nestled against the junction of her thighs, and she mewled softly, unable to stop herself. Somewhere, in the far reaches of her mind, she knew they couldn’t take it that far, she wasn’t ready, and if they did, here, now, she’d be a fallen woman. But as he carefully rolled his hips, hers rose automatically to meet him, and she lost herself again in the blissful sensation.

Every inch of her skin tingled like she’d been touched by a live wire, and she writhed beneath him as he dragged his lips from hers to her cheeks, her ear, her throat and down to her chest, never once loosing the rhythm of their slow rolling dance. She could feel him everywhere, as he mouth and hands moved across her body touching, caressing, driving her crazy and ever closer to that peak of oblivion.

Her plaid and tucker were gone, lost in the moment, and his hand came up to gently free her breast. She arched her back, clinging to him desperately, as he wrapped his lips around her nippled and softly bit down.

“Oh God. Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” She begged breathlessly, her movements increasing as she chased the fire that burned bright in the pit of her stomach.

“Claire.” He breathed, as his fingers took over the torture and his lips moved to capture hers once more. “I want ye.” He murmured against her mouth, as his hand slid from her breast to her side, then down to gather her skirts.

She wanted him too, desperately, but she would have stopped him, had it been necessary. As it happens his words had fanned the flames and sent her flying off into the abyss, before he could so much as shift the material. Overwhelmed by sensation, she wrapped her legs around him, and arched up, screaming silently against his lips as she shattered into a million tiny pieces beneath him. He froze, breaking the kiss, and rising on his arms to look down at her.

“Did ye…we havena even…I dinna ken lass’ could…”

She was breathless and dazed, but laughing as she smiled up at him and nodded. But watching him as she was, she witnessed the exact moment that his face changed from wonder, to realisation, and finally settled in a sickening look of abject horror. Her blood ran cold, and whatever bliss she’d been feeling evaporated like a puff of smoke.

_No!_

_Not now, not like this!_

“Jamie?” She whispered pleadingly, as she moved a trembling hand from his shoulder, up to cup his face. “What’s wrong?”

_Please don’t do this!_

He didn’t speak at first, he just slowly untangled himself from her hold, closing off his body as surly as he had his mind, as he sat up and buried his head in his hands. His breathing was ragged and uneven, and she wanted to reach for him, to bring him back to her, but she was too afraid. Choking on a sob, she shuffled back to the corner of the couch and quickly covered herself with the plaid, mortified by her behavior, and devastated by his.

“I…” he stopped and she felt, rather than saw, his movement as he stood slowly and backed away. “I’m so sorry, Claire. I didna…I shouldna…”

“Don’t.” She begged, breathing deep and finding the courage to raise her blurry eyes to his. He looked as devastated as she felt, and it almost hurt too much to look at him. “Don’t make excuses.”

“Claire…”

“No. Please.” She whispered, swiping at her eyes. “Don’t say it was a mistake. I can take a lot Jamie, but I’m not sure I can take that.”

He moved back towards her, crouched down, and reached up to cup her face. She tried to shift back away from him, not prepared to feel his burning touch so soon, but he held tight, forcing her to look at him, as he brushed her tears away with his thumbs.

“I’v made more than my fair share of mistakes, Claire, but ye could never be one of them. Never doubt that I want ye. I’v wanted ye since the first time I held ye in my arms.”

“Then why?” She begged helplessly, his words searing her soul as she watched him close his eyes and swallow painfully. If he wanted her, it made no sense that he should push her away. The only thing that could really stop them was if he was already married.

It was her turn to freeze, and she looked at him, horrified, but searching for the truth. In her desire for him, she’d complete disregarded the chance that he may already be tied to another woman, and her heart broke anew.

“There’s room I think for secrets between us, but no for lies. So I’ll tell ye if ye ask, but I’m begin’ ye, lass. No tonight.” He looked up at her again, and the raw agony she saw lurking in the depths of his eyes, had her nodding as she licked her salty tears from her lips.

“You need to leave.” She whispered, her breath stuttering as she spoke. “Please?”

He sighed painfully, then nodded and leant forward and pressed his lips tenderly against her forehead.

“Ye may no be a mistake, but ye’ll be my biggest regret, Sassenach.” He breathed, his voice deep and hoarse as he stood and turned to leave the room.

As she heard door shut soundly behind him, she finally gave in to the torrent of tears that she’d been holding back. They streamed down her face, and helplessly, she turned and buried it against the cushions, giving herself over to her deep wracking sobs.

 

Three days.

It had been three, long, lonely, agonizing days since she’d last seen Jamie, and she missed him like crazy. It was absurd, she’d known him less than a week, but she just couldn’t stop her mind from drifting to him. With each passing thought, or expected sighting, the butterflies in her stomach fluttered to life and her heart constricted painfully.

The whole castle was in an uproar, with the Duke of Argyll expected to arrive at any moment, and she’d attempted to keep herself busy, tending to minor ailments, and helping Mrs Fitz where she could.

When she couldn’t, she’d take to the nearby fields or the herb garden, searching for the tiny stems or roots she’d seen in her book. Always keeping an eye out for Jamie, yet never seeing him.

If it wasn’t for the constant presence of either Murtagh or Willie she’d wonder whether he’d taken his party and abandoned her there, not that she’d blame him. Yes, she’d been hurt and confused by his actions, but any anger she’d felt had disappeared before the first day had passed.

He’d been lost in the moment with her, and had admitted wanting her as much as she wanted him, but it was _her_ that had initiated it. She’d been practically begging him to kiss her since the moment they met, even having seen and recognized his reluctance. So if she was devastated now, she really had no one to blame but herself. She’d pushed him, and married or not, he was only a man, and every man had his breaking point.

And apparently she’d reached Jamie’s.

She was mortified, but determined to find him eventually and apologize. _She’d_ been the one in the wrong, but if she knew him at all, she knew he’d be taking it on himself, stubborn fool that he was.

He’d told her she could ask him for the truth, and she was tempted if only for her own peace of mind, but she wouldn’t ask. Not only was she more scared than ever of finding out he was married, but if he had his secrets, he held onto them for a reason. She could tell in that moment when he offered, that whatever they were, they cause him pain, and she didn’t want to hurt him more than she already had.

She sighed and placed the fresh strips of willow bark in her basket. Brian Fraser’s heart condition had been playing on her mind since Jamie mentioned it, and though he hadn’t arrived yet, she wanted to be prepared. Without modern medicine she was limited in what she could do to help, but willow bark was the basis of aspirin and she hoped it would help.

She turned intending to head back toward the castle, and smiled slightly at Willie as he fell into step beside her. Unlike Murtagh, who was back to being his silent, watchful self since the bedchamber incident, Willie was young and chatty, and always offered to help her where he could.

He was quieter than usual today though, and one of the few people that weren’t in a frenzy about the dukes imminent arrival. As excitable as he was, his nonchalance surprised her; even she had to admit that she was somewhat anxious about it.

Meeting an eighteenth century Duke was equivalent to meeting Tom Hanks or Elton John and she’d never met anyone of their standing. If truth be told, she wanted to stay out of his way as much as possible. Afraid as she was of making a complete tit of herself.

She heard Willie gasp and turned to see him stood frozen a few feet behind her, staring off across the field. She frowned and glanced over her shoulder to see what he was looking at, but other than a rider in the distance, there was nothing to see.

“Is everything alright, Willie?” She asked taking a step towards him. He didn’t acknowledge her, and she reached out a tentative hand and gently touched his arm. “Willie?” He startled and his eyes darted to her, wide and full of fear. “What’s wrong?”

“T’is Murtagh, Mistress.” He whispered horrified, pointing towards the rider. She looked again, but still unable to make him out, she focused her attention on the frightened lad.

“Why would that scare you so? Surely he hasn’t done anything to..”

“No! T’is only…ach, I dinna ken. He went wit’ the party gone out to meet His Grace, an Dougal, he…weel he dinna really do anything, he just…I dinna like his look as he watched em go, ye ken?” He stumbled, dragging a hand through his hair and looking to Claire helplessly. “An’ now here’s Murtagh ridin’ like the devils on his arse.”

“Who’s went with him to meet the Duke?” She asked, her heart dropping like a stone into the pit of her stomach. She already knew, just by the look on his face, but still, as the words left his lips she thought she would be sick.

“Mac Dubh, an’ the men.” He confirmed quietly, stilling Claire’s heart completely. “He was headin’ toward the castle, but he changed course. If he’s comin’ for ye…”

_Oh God no!_

Since their journey to Leoch, she’d done all she could to avoid Dougal Mackenzie. But despite her best efforts, she’d still seen him more than once. Thankfully he’d never spoken to her, but he watched her like a hawk from his place in the dining hall everyday, and she would never forget the evil that lurked in his eyes when he looked at Jamie.

_Jamie._

“You’re positive that’s Murtagh?” She whispered, hardly able to speak past the painful lump in her throat. It couldn’t be, it had to be someone else, because Willie was right, there was only one reason she could think of for Murtagh to be riding toward them like that, and if Dougal had done anything to hurt Jamie she’d kill him.

“Aye, mistress.”

A strangled sob left her throat and before Willie could react, she dropped her basket, hitched up her skirts and took off, running as fast as she could across the field towards Murtagh. She could sense Willie running just behind her, but she didn’t slow to wait for him, even as her ribs ached and her lungs burned. She just ran and ran, her only thought of getting to Jamie, and praying to God he was still alive.

“Take me to him!” She cried breathlessly as Murtagh stopped beside her and reached down for her hand. She didn’t hesitate. Placing her foot on his, she took his hand and threw herself up astride the horse behind him.

She heard him barking orders to Willie, but she couldn’t tell you what he’d said if her life depended on it. Their words simply merged together and were drowned out by the beating of her own heart.

“Tell me.” She begged desperately, doing nothing to stem the tears streaming freely down her face. “I need to know what happened.”

“That bastard horse the fool insists on riding. He just spooked, wit’ no warning an’ threw the lad clean off.” Murtagh huffed, pushing his own horse faster. “He dinna stand a chance.”

“How bad is it?”

“I dinna ken, lass. But t’is no good. He hasna woken since he fell.” He sighed, squeezing her trembling hands as she cried quietly against the soft wool of his coat. It was a sign of affection that she would have never expected from him, and though meant in comfort, it only heightened her fear.

Murtagh was as stoic as they come, but his silent watchfulness meant he missed nothing. She had no idea whether or not Jamie would have told him what had happen between them, but she knew he’d seen her sadness these last few days, and there was no way he could have been completely unaware of their time in her rooms. He’d been stood outside the door, and Jamie had been more than a little disheveled when he left.

“How much further?”

“It’s no far, lass. So calm yerself, aye? He needs ye.”

Not far was another fifteen minutes, and they were the longest fifteen minutes of her life. The crowd of men, and Jamie’s prone body, came into view long before they reached them, and Claire had to constantly remind herself that the quickest way to get there was to stay on the horse.

There were questions that she should have been asking, but her mind was blank. She couldn’t hold onto a thought for more than a second before fear clenched her stomach and she found herself choking on fresh tears.

He wasn’t even hers to loose, but she could still feel each painful fracture of her heart as every awful possibility hit her. She’d never been so terrified in her life. Even the day she’d travelled through the stones, had been nothing in comparison to this. But she took a deep breath, and let it out as slowly as she could. Murtagh was right, Jamie needed her, and she wouldn’t make a rookie mistake because she was panicking.

The horse slowed, and she was swinging her leg and jumping down, before it had come to a complete stop. She landed gracefully and turned in a swish of skirts and ran towards where the men were gathered.

Pushing through them, unapologetically, she fell to her knees on the grass beside Jamie and placed her trembling fingers against the pulse at his neck. He was deathly pale, but his pulse was strong, and she breathed for the first time in what felt like hours as she counted the beats silently in her head.

“I swear to God, Jamie Fraser. If you die on me I’ll bloody kill you.” She croaked, swiping at her eyes and turning to look up at the men.

“Has there been any change? Has he moved or woken at all?” She asked as calmly as she could, her eyes moving from one man to the next, begging for reassurance.

“Aye, I’m awake, Sassenach, but quit ye yellin’ woman, ye splittin’ me skull.” Jamie groaned quietly, attempting to move her hand from his neck. Her head whipped around and she choked on a sob as she saw his deep blue eyes looking up at her.

“ _I’m_ splitting your skull?” She half laughed, half cried, as she leaned over him and held his eyes with her own. “Looks to me like you’re doing a good enough job of that yourself, you bloody idiot! And don’t you dare move. If you do so much as twitch, I’ll have the men hold you down until I’m finished with you. Understand?”

“As ye say, lass.” He smiled weakly, his owlish blink slower than usual, “I couldna move if I tried anyway.” That sobered her, and she sat back and looked him over.

His shoulder was clearly out of joint, and while she knew it would be excruciating for him, it wasn’t her most pressing concern. It was the possible injuries to his head and spine that worried her.

She looked back to his face, noticing with worry that his eyes had closed again, and reaching for his hands she squeezed his icy fingers between her own.

“Jamie, I know you’re in pain,” she whispered, leaning closer to him again, “and I promise I’ll fix your shoulder as soon as I can. But right now I need you to keep your eyes open while I check your head and spine, okay?”

“Aye.” He whispered back, peeling his pain filled eyes open slowly.

“Good. Some strange questions first,” She smiled, “Can you tell me what date it is?” He frowned up at her as of she was stupid, and rolled his eyes.

“Thursday 27th June 1743.”

“Good. And your full name.”

“James Alexander Malcom Mackenzie Fraser.”

“When and where did we meet?”

“Last Friday by the falls.”

“Good. Now any loss of feeling or tingling in your arms and legs?” She asked, gently tickling his palms with her thumbs. “And can you feel that?”

“No, no and Aye.” He smiled softly, as he squeezed her hands gently in response.

“Christ, His Grace will miss his own damn party if she keeps this up.”

“Shut the _fuck_ up, Rupert, or piss off back to Leoch on your own.” She spat turning to glare up at him. “I’m trying to make sure he’s not crippled for life, and I honestly don’t give a fuck about the Duke or his bloody party.”

Rupert gaped at her and opened his mouth to respond, most likely with some moronic comment, but was rendered silent by the clearing of a throat. Claire glanced quickly behind her, only just noticing the dark haired stranger that was glaring daggers at Rupert.

“Do as the lass say, lad.” He growled warming Claire to him instantly. As she tuned back to smile down at Jamie, she noticed that his eyes had closed again, and he was shaking with silent laughter.

“Hey, eyes open, soldier, and keep still.” She ordered, softly trying not to laugh herself. Thankfully he opened them quicker this time, but he wasn’t having much luck keeping still.

“Ah, lass. Never change.” He breathed, still laughing painfully, as he uttered the same words that had prompted their first near kiss.

“I don’t plan on it.” She promised, squeezing his hands again, relieved that his humour was still intact. “Any pain in your head or double vision?”

“There’s only one of ye, thank the lord, Sassenach, we couldna cope wit’ two. But aye, my head hurts like hell.” He groaned softly, finally controlling his laughter.

Releasing his hands, she gently lifted each eyelid and examined his pupils. Neither had blown, and they looked even, but she’d really needed her flashlight to check them when they got him back to Leoch.

“I just want to check your spine, and then I’ll set your shoulder.” She promised.

She worked quickly but throughly, running her fingers along his neck, and with the help of Murtagh and the stranger, turned him slightly onto his side to check his back. Breathing a sigh of relief, and offering a prayer of thanks. She stood and moved away from him slightly.

“No lasting damage.” She smiled, her joy clear for everyone to see, “If you would just help him sit up, Murtagh, I’ll get his shoulder set, and we can find a way to get him back to Leoch.”

“I’v got him, Murtagh.” The stranger insisted as he moved to crouch above Jamie. Claire blanched and looked to Murtagh helplessly, not trusting anyone beyond his Godfather to touch him. But he simply shrugged leaving Claire with no choice.

As she turned back to the stranger, intending to scrutinise his every move, he looked up at her and smiled, and she got her first good look at him.

_Well shit!_

She smiled back, with true warmth, and relaxed as Brian Fraser slipped his hands under his sons shoulders and gently lifted him. There was no one else it could be, that handsome face, deep blue eyes, and elegant nose had been clearly handed down to his son. Jamie gasped almost silently and clutched at his arm, bringing on near identical winces from both Claire and his father.

“Easy, lad.” Brian soothed, touching his sons good shoulder as he looked back up at Claire, “Ye’r in good hands I think.”

“Aye.” Jamie nodded slightly, looking up at Claire, his ocean blue eyes warm and inviting. “T’is no the first time she’d fixed me up.”

“Well let’s hope it’s the last.” She laughed lightly as she knelt back in front of him. “Would you mind keeping him steady while I pop it back in place please?” She asked Brian quietly. At his nod of agreement she looked at Jamie and grimaced. “I’m sorry, it will feel much worst before it feels better. Es-tu pret?”

“Je suit prest.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some secrets revealed!!

“How’s your head feeling?” Claire asked quietly as she buckled the belt at Jamie’s shoulder, securing his arm tightly across his chest. He was still pale, but since she’d popped his joint back into place, he’d regained _some_ of his colour at least.

“Like I’v a hundred wee men in there diggin’ for peat.” He grimaced scrunching his nose adorably and attempting to shrug. She stilled his movement with her hand, and sighed quietly.

“Your shoulder may be feeling better, but please, try not to move it.” She implored gently, “The joint’s weak and it won’t take much for it to slip back out again. You won’t be so tempted to try tomorrow, but for now, just be careful alright?”

He reached up to his shoulder, where her hand still lay, and squeezed it softly with his, drawing her attention. She looked at him, her heart in her eyes, and he smiled sadly and nodded.

“Aye, lass, I’ll be careful, an’ I want to thank ye…”

“There’s no need.”

“Aye, there is. I dinna deserve ye care, but I’m grateful for it.” He whispered as his thumb drew soft circles on the back of her hand. She felt the all too familiar lump swell painfully in her throat, and she shook her head and slowly slid her hand from his grasp.

“I need to check your head.” She murmured, desperate to tell him how sorry she was, but unable to tread on such dangerous ground. Her emotions were still too raw, and she’d only end up in tears again. “Do you mind?”

“Ye’v been poking an’ prodding me for the past half hour, an’ now ye ask?” He laughed hollowly, “No, mo gràdhag, I dinna mind.”

She nodded, and knelt down between his legs, before placing her hands on either side of his head. His eyes closed and he sighed softly as she gently worked her fingers across his scalp, massaging it as she felt for bumps or sore spots.

“Open you eyes.” She instructed as she ran her thumbs around his ears, across his temples and carefully lifted each eyelid again, checking his pupils.

“What’s the verdict?”

“There’s no bumps, but with a head injury that’s not necessarily a good thing. But there are no tender spots or signs of internal hem…bleeding.” She corrected herself. “So I think you just gave it a good rattle when you fell. I want to keep an eye on you though, and I’ll give you something for the pain when we get back to Leoch.”

At the mention of the castle, her stomach rolled, and for the first time since she’d left Willie in the field, she remembered what had prompted her frantic race towards Murtagh.

“What is it, Sassenach?” Jamie asked touching her arm. She removed her hands from his hair, silently cursing her bloody glass face, and glance around the clearing.

There were more men here than she’d realised and she recognised less than half of them. But friends or foes, they were all a good distance away, including Brian who was stood amongst them talking, yet keeping a watchful eye on his son.

The only man she couldn’t see was Murtagh, and if the Duke of Argyll was here, he didn’t stand out from the crowd.

“Where’s Donas?” She asked, turning back to Jamie, her voice only just audible.

“I dinna ken, he took off. Probably back at the stables by now.” He replied, shifting back slightly and slowly climbing to his feet. She followed him, and touching his arm, she guided him further away from the men.

“I…Jamie I think Dougal did something to him.” She began looking up at him, as she slowly and quietly explained what Willie had told her. As she spoke, Jamie’s face gradually changed, and whatever he saw in it, drew a watchful Brian over to them.

“What is it, Lad?” He asked, nodding politely to Claire but giving his full attention to his son.

Side by side like this, they were a sight to see.

Two near identical Viking warriors, one black haired, one red, with slanting deep blue eyes, straight noses, full lips, and perfect angular jaws. They were both build like mountains, and although Jamie was taller, the difference was so slight it was negligible.

She felt like a tiny porcelain doll in comparison, and it was intimidating. But when she’d been safe and protected in Jamie’s arms, she hadn’t minded one bit.

As Jamie began quietly explaining what she’d told him, the sound of drawing swords whispered through the air, and the gathered men stood to attention. Before she could blink he’d shoved her behind him, and she found herself staring at the backs of the two Fraser men as they stood shoulder to shoulder, completely blocking her view.

Her heart pounded frantically in her chest, flooding her system with adrenaline rich blood, that heightened her senses, preparing her for flight or fight. So alert, she heard the exact moment that footsteps crept through the trees, and a loud groan went up around the group.

“S’only wee Tommy, ye addle pate.” Someone grouched, beginning a chorus of teasing Gaelic and rowdy laughter, as swords were sheathed and Jamie and his father parted like the Red Sea.

Her legs were shaking so badly she thought she’d collapse, but she locked her knees, standing tall as she watched the young lad scan the crowd then turn and run in their direction.

“Ye Grace,” he panted as he came to a stop before Brian and pointed back in the direction of the forest. “Murtagh found Milords horse. He’s hurt an’ he willna let us near, but ye need to see. Mutagen said it wasna an accident.”

Brian’s face suddenly turned so black and dangerous, that both Claire and Tommy instinctively took a step back. Never in her life had she seen a man so enraged, and as though they were attuned to his mood, every man in the group reacted, falling silent, awaiting orders.

“McKimmy, Graham, with me. The rest of ye prepare to leave. Dougal Mackenzie willna see this night fall.” He growled, falling into step beside Jamie as he strode in the direction Tommy had come from. “Show the way, boy.”

Tommy scrambled ahead of them, and still frozen on the spot with fear, it took Claire a moment to react. Headless of the consequences, she moved to life, hitching her skirts and taking off after Jamie.

“Stay here, Sassenach.” He ordered, frowning at her as she rushed into the tree line beside him.

“No. I’m the only other person Donas tolerates, and if he’s injured and spooked you’ll not be able to handle him with one arm. I’m coming.” She insisted, wishing her voice had been as commanding as his. But like her body it was weak, and trembled with fear and uncertainty.

It was one thing to stand up to an angry Jamie, but if Brian turned on her, she wouldn’t dare disobey. As warm as he had been as she tended to his son, right now he was so terrifying that she genuinely feared she might pee herself if he did.

Thankfully, he didn’t utter a word about it. Whether he was too lost in his rage or simply didn’t care she had no idea, but as his father remained silent, Jamie sighed and nodded.

“How bad is he, Tommy.” Jamie asked the lad as he ducked beneath low hanging branches, holding them out of the way for her to pass through.

“T’is no life or death, Milord, but I truly dinna ken. He flattened Murtagh when he tried to get close.”

“Is Murtagh, well?” Brian interrupted, as he glanced from Tommy to her, with a look that spoke a thousand words. Murtagh was now her priority, not the horse.

“Aye, Ye Grace. He’s just winded him is all.” Tommy nodded, as he pointed to a section of thick bush just ahead of them. “They’re just through there but t’is too thick, we have to go around.”

“McKimmy.”

“Aye, Ye Grace.”

The two warriors Brian had ordered along, drew their swords and hacked away at the bush, quickly creating a clearing for them to pass through. Claire noticed, absently, that Jamie had positioned her between himself and his father as they passed through the bush in single file, but she was distracted.

Amongst the worry and the fear that had been slowly consuming her, Tommy’s deferential treatment and the epithets he used in reference to the Fraser men, had slowly permeated her consciousness.

The links between Jamie’s reference to his father coming, and the imminent arrived of the Duke of Argyll, fused together. As did the fact that he ridden out to meet the Duke and was returning with Brian. But two plus two were not adding up to four.

She’d visited Inveraray Castle not two weeks ago, and she would swear on everything she held dear, that the Duchy was held by clan Campbell. She’d seen portraits and family trees dotted around the halls as she’d listened to the tour guide detail the clans history.

So how in the bloody hell was Brian Fraser the Duke of Argyll?

Brian Robert David _Campbell_ Fraser.

_Fuck my life!_

If Brian was the Duke, that made Jamie…

“There, Milord.” Tommy blurted needlessly, snapping Claire out of her throughs, as he tapped Jamie’s arm and pointed to a clearly agitated Donas.

He stood by a small stream, snorting and stamping his feet as he regarded the group before him. His eyes were almost rolling in his huge head, and while the sight completely broke her heart, it was the rivets of bright red blood on his flank that had her swallowing back bile.

“Soirbh mo giullan.” Jamie breathed, his hand outstretched as he slowly and carefully approached the horse. Donas snorted, shaking his head and backing away. “Soirbh, Soirbh, leig dhomh cuideachadh.”

Her eyes were riveted on Jamie as he attempted fruitlessly to tame the horse. But to her right she could hear the angry, hissing voices of Brian and Murtagh as they parried back and forth in rough Gaelic tongues. The thought of coming between them scared her half to death, but she needed to check on Murtagh and if they didn’t shut up, they’d get Jamie killed.

Taking a deep breath, trying to bolster her courage, she said a silent prayer for her life, and turned to stomp over to the men.

_God help her!_

“Are you trying to get him killed?” She spat quietly, her voice strong but her knees weak. Brian’s head whirled around towards her, his eyes as black as his hair, and looking like he was ready to murder her. But she held her ground, squaring her shoulder as they stood almost toe to toe. Her a good foot below him. “I understand that you’re both angry, but it won’t take much for Donas to rear, and if he does he’ll quickly finish the job that Dougal started. Have some sense and hold your tongues until he’s done.”

Brian’s eyes were narrowed into slits, and she knew beyond a doubt that she was a dead woman, that she was still breathing was a mere technicality. But she refused to back down, if she showed weakness now, any respect he might still hold for her would disappear, and like any good highlander, if she was going down, she was going down fighting.

_Only for you Jamie Fraser!_

Brian snorted in anger, reminding her alarmingly of Donas, as he threw his hands in the air and stormed off across the clearing, never having said a word. She watched him, her whole body trembling, as he stopped a few feet from the tree line, crossed his arms over his chest, and fixed his eyes on his son.

“Ye a braver man than I am, lassie.” Murtagh murmured quietly, doing nothing to disguise the laughter in his voice.

“On a scale of one to ten, how dead am I?” She whispered back as she turned to face him.

“Infinitely.”

“Great.” She sighed flexing her numb fingers as she glanced from Murtagh to Jamie and back again. “Tommy said you were hurt?”

“Nay, lass. He just knocked the wind out of me. Go, I ken ye itchin’ to help the lad. Just watch yerself, aye? That horse has the devil in him.”

Claire nodded and turned to slowly approach Jamie and Donas. He’d managed to get hold of his reigns but the big black beast was still skirting away from him, attempting to rear up on his hind legs, and one handed, Jamie was struggling.

“Hey now, boy.” She called gently as she slowly circled Jamie, coming in toward Donas from the left, hands outstretched, palms down. “Shush, easy.”

Her movements were as sure and steady as Jamie’s, any fear she’d felt at facing Brian, none existent as they worked together, slowly calming the massive horse. Jamie continued to speak to him softly in Gaelic so she kept quiet, just shushing gently as she placed her hand on his long neck and worked it slowly across his shoulder.

“Can ye get the straps?” Jamie asked his voice still soft and melodic as he held the bridle and brought Donas’ head to his.

She nodded, and though clearly still unhappy, the horse did nothing but stamp and snort as she quickly unfastened the buckles and heaved the heavy saddle off his back. The sight that met her was horrifying. Deep groves and holes slashed along his back, bright pink against the black and oozing blood.

Stepping back away from them slowly she placed the saddle on the ground and turned it over.

“Jamie.” She choked, her hand clasped over her mouth, trying to hold back the vomit that was slowly rising in her throat. Rows of sharp, pointed nails protruded from beneath the leather, some still partially hidden, others pushed right through.

She fell to her knees beside it and lifted the saddle examining the top and then the sides. The seat itself was clear, but the stitching along the left side had obviously been undone and restitched once the nails had been put in place.

They’d have taken time to work though the thick layers as Jamie rode, but once they had, they’d have cause the horse considerable pain. Jamie was silent, too furious to speak as he continued to tend to Donas. But sensing a presence beside her, she looked up into the murderous eyes of his father.

 

Everything happened so fast from that point, and before she knew what was going on, she was back by the road and being lifted bodily on to the back of a horse by Brian Fraser.

“What?” She stuttered, looking behind her where Murtagh sat, reigns in hand ready to ride as the men around them gathered their belonging ad readied the horses. “Jamie…”

“Go, Sassenach.” He ordered, raising a hand to undo the buckle at his shoulder.

“No. You can’t fight, you’re injured. Promise me…promise me you won’t fight!” She begged helplessly, trying to reach out and still his hand.

“Ye need to go an’ get yer bags before we arrive, we’ll no be staying at Leoch and ye canna leave em.” He implored stepping out of her reach, “Pack quickly and leave. Murtagh an’ Graham will see ye safe till I can meet up with ye.”

“Jamie no!” She cried helplessly, twisting to find Brian, hoping he’d talk some sense into him. “Your Grace, you can’t let him…”

“Do as ye told!” Brian barked scaring the living daylights out of her. She’d never seen a man so furious in her life. He was like a raging Viking warrior lusting for blood as he rallied his men and prepared for battle.

She felt Jamie’s large warm hand wrap around hers, and she turned back to him, wide eyed and terrified, as he brought it up to his lips and pressed them softly against her palm.

“Take her, Murtagh and dinna let her out of ye sight.”

“Aye, Lad.” Murtagh assented as he flicked the reigns and took off down the road, with Graham riding tall beside them.

 

CALLUM MACKENZIE! SHOW YERSELF AN’ YER BASTARD BROTHER!”

“Oh, shit!” Claire hissed, jumping out of her skin as the enraged roar of Brian Fraser echoed around the silent courtyard. Her bag slipped from her fingers, and tripping over her skirts, she turned and stumbled to the window, heart pounding and hands trembling with fear.

From the safety of her room three floors above, Claire watched with horror as the highland warriors gathered around their leader, swords drawn and ready to fight to the death. They should have left by now, but Murtagh had been held up by Mrs Fitz and, not wanting to alert the castle as to what was coming, he’d had to listen to her patently as she rattled on.

Despite the warmth of the day, she shivered, and wrapped her plaid around her shoulders. It was a terrifying sight and she’d be a fool not to recognize the real danger they were in if they didn’t leave soon. But despite her fear, her eyes searched the throng for Jamie. She found him quickly, as though drawn by an invisible force, and watched as he jumped down from the back of a horse.

He was clearly still in pain, but she breathed a sigh of relief, and smiled slightly as the stubborn idiot turned his back, as though there wasn’t a murderous rampage about to take place behind him, and approach an unsaddled, and still wary Donas, to gently run his hand down his neck.

“Annalise would be down there now, fussin’ over him an’ carryin’ on if she were here.” A quiet voice announced beside her, making her jump and whirl around.

Laoghaire, the blonde haired niece of Mrs Fitz stood beside her, looking out of the window, her clear blue eyes staring down at Jamie longingly. Claire’s eyes narrowed, then darted to her belongings on the bed, checking to see if her bags were closed. Seeing that they were, she breathed a silent sigh of relief and looked back at the younger girl.

She left the door unlocked, presuming Murtagh would stay at his post and not let anyone in. Obviously she’d been wrong, and so lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard her enter.

“I’m sorry?” She asked, confused. In her surprise, she hadn’t really heard what Laoghaire had said, and although she wanted to rip her eyes out for the way she looked at Jamie, she was trying to be polite.

“Jamie’s wife, Annalise, she’d be havin’ kittens if she saw him like that. She dinna travel wit’ him, always heavy wit’ a new bairn, ye ken. But I’v never seen a pair so in love, an’ she’d be fussin’ him like his mother if she were here.” She smiled, glancing at Claire out of the corner of her eye.

Claire could almost feel the blood draining from her face, and afraid her knees would give way, she grasped onto the stones of the window ledge and stared unseeing into the crowd.

“Are ye, alright, Claire?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” She answered her voice shaking and weak as the whole world imploded around her.

She knew, logically, that her heart still beat and that the world still spun steadily on it axes. But her blood had frozen in her veins, causing the thundering beat of her shattered heart to sound hollow and empty, as it rang in her ears.

It was ironic that, in the moment she lost him forever, she realised that, despite every rational reason against it, in those two short days riding with Jamie, she’d fallen in love with him. She let out a small empty laugh and shook her head.

“Is she at Lallybroch?” She whispered, watching him though the window as he moved to stand by his father. She didn’t really want to know, just the thought of him with another woman, his wife, made her sick to her stomach. But forewarned is forearmed and she needing to know everything before she faced him again, and to understand what would greet her when they arrived at his family estate.

Along with the position of his father, this was clearly the secret that Jamie had been keeping from her, and knowing she could never talk to him about his wife, Laoghaire was, unfortunately, her only option.

“Aye. Me brothers a tenant there, an I visited wit’ her a few times. Went last about a year ago, just after she had young Robert.”

The lump in her throat was unbearable and how she didn’t just fall to her knees and weep, she’d never know. _Of course_ he didn’t just have a wife, he had to have children as well! She’d thought he was a better man than that, she’d hurt for his pain, castigated herself, and been prepared to apologise, while he was nothing but an adulterous pig. All the anger and hurt she’d felt when he’d left her on the couch, returned ten fold.

She hated him, with every fraction of love he’d made her feel, she hated him.

“How many children do they have?” She managed to force out, feigning interest and barely able to see through the tears in her eyes as Callum slowly crossed the courtyard towards Brian.

“Oh, three on me last count. Two boys an’ a lass, an only marrit four years.” She laughed flashing Claire a wink that had bile rising in her throat.

“Enough, Laoghaire!” Murtagh growled as the door slammed back against the wall, making both woman jump. “We’re leaving, Lass.”

Swiftly moving to the bed he collected her bags in one hand, and stood back, motioning for her to leave the room. She looked from him to the door where Willie and Graham stood waiting and watching, their hands on their swords ready for action.

“I’m not sure…”

“Move, Claire now! I’ll no tell ye again.” He ordered, striding towards her and grabbing her wrist. She tried to yank it free, but he held tight, and pulled her from the room. “Dinna judge what ye dinna ken.” He warned, releasing her and motioning her forward.

Although scared, hurt and confused, she wasn’t stupid, and hadn’t been planning on refusing to leave. So she nodded, and feeling more lost and alone than she had since she arrived, followed the men into the unknown.


	12. Chapter 12

Her heavy, swollen eyes scanned the horizon, watching, waiting, and seeing nothing but the empty road as the sky turned from blue to orange, orange to red, and red to the deep purple black of night. They’d been travelling for hours, and had covered miles of rough highland terrine before they’d stopped for the night. But her heart and mind were still at Leoch: still with Jamie.

_Please God, keep him safe._

Until the men caught up with them, they had no way of knowing what had transpired after they’d fled the castle, and love him or hate him, she was terrified.

Haunted by the image of him lying bleeding and broken in the cobbled stone courtyard, she’d turned her horse around twice, desperate to go back, desperate to know he was still alive. But she’d been thwarted and threatened by Murtagh, as he turned her back around and insisted they go on.

His mood had been as black as Brian’s, so she hadn’t dared to ask where they were going on to, but she didn’t need to, she already knew.

They were heading to Lallybroch and to the life that Jamie had there.

A life that didn’t include her.

Maybe that was why she’d wanted to go back, maybe it had nothing to do with Jamie or the fight, and everything to do with what lay beyond Leoch.

She wanted to go home.

She wanted Joe.

At Lallybroch she’d have to face Jamie’s wife, a wife he apparently loved. To look her in the eyes knowing how it felt to be in her husbands arms, to kiss his lips, and feel his body upon hers. She’d have to watch them together, to see him with his children, and pretend she felt nothing.

But she did, she felt _everything_ , and it was tearing her apart.

Tears clouded her vision and she blinked lazily, letting them fall as they would. She had no energy left to care. The last six days had been just too much. She’d felt the extreme edge of terror, the heights of euphoric bliss, and the deepest depths of despair. She’d been plummeted through time, attacked at knife point, touched with reverence, and dragged around like a bloody rag doll.

She’d been to hell and back, and she wasn’t sure how much more she could take. She was emotionally, mentally and physically exhausted.

But what choice did she have?

Finding her way back to Craig na Dun alone would be impossible, and even if she could convince Murtagh to take her, she had no idea what she would even find.

It was clear that, somehow, history had changed. Nothing she knew was as it should be. First with Black Jack, then Sandringham, and now Argyll. So if everything was different in the past she’d landed in, then did she really belong here? Was this really her place, her time, as she had told Joe in her diaries?

And if not, did Joe and the life she knew in 2018, still exist?

Just the thought alone horrified her beyond imagining. If she’d landed in the wrong time, and the love she was supposed to find no longer existed, then neither did Joe, and she had nothing whatsoever to hold onto.

_I was never destined to be a Fraser._

The wayward thought hit her and she laughed at herself bitterly. She was nothing but a stupid, foolish girl, infatuated with a man she knew absolutely nothing about. Yet she’d trusted him, followed him from the top of Craig na Dun, and into a place she didn’t belong.

And all because of what? A school girl crush? Hero worship? An ambiguous letter from a man that will most likely never even be born?

It was all just so fucked up. Joe had never even said that Jamie would be the one. He’d just painted a picture of a dashing hero, and _she’d_ been the one to assume. She was angry, scared, hurt and so fucking confused. Nothing made sense and she felt so helpless she was suffocating, and she knew it would only get worse once they arrived at Lallybroch.

“She’s called Brimstone.” She heard Murtagh announce quietly from her side and she scoffed, shaking her head at the sheer irony.

“How appropriate.”

She wasn’t in the mood to talk, she just wanted to be left alone, leaning gently against her silent companion as they stood and watched the deserted road. But she heard him sigh, and looked over, watching as he stroked a loving hand down the nose of the beautiful ivory horse.

“Claire…”

“I don’t want to hear it. I don’t need an explanation.” She insisted trying to hold back the tears that were so close to the surface. She couldn’t talk about this, not here, not now, and not with him.

“I ken that, an it’s no my place to say anything…”

“Then don’t.” She pleaded, pushing away from the horse and turning her back on Jamie’s Godfather. Why did he feel the need to talk now? Could he not just go back to being the stony, bad tempered bastard she’d ridden beside all day?

Swiping at her eyes, she looked out into the distance, and seriously considered asking him to take her to Craig na Dun. Whether she could get through the stones or not, it had to be a better fate than what she was facing now.

_But what about Jenny?_

_Shit!_

She’d promised Jamie, as they spoke softly that night on the couch, that she’d help his sister, and as much as it pained her, she couldn’t break that promise. His fear of losing her had been too real for her to ignore.

She sighed quietly and sank down in the grass. She’d go to Lallybroch, help Jenny, and after she’d given birth, she’d ask Jamie to take her back to the stones. If she couldn’t get through, maybe she could go on to Inveraray Castle and find work there with his father.

The Duke of Argyll.

_Jesus Christ._

Not only had she done what she feared and made a complete tit of herself in front of the Duke. But to add insult to injury, he was Jamie’s father, and if she remembered correctly, that made Jamie the Marquess of Lorne.

Joe would have a field day with that one. He’d always told her that the men she dated weren’t good enough for her. If he found out that her first, non-self-induced orgasm, had been at the hands of Marquess, he’d die laughing.

That he was the son of the most powerful man in Scotland would be the icing on the cake. Though she didn’t suppose he’d enjoy knowing that the man was already married.

“If ye willna talk, will ye at least eat?” Murtagh huffed, practically shoving a skinned rabbit in her face. She reared back, taking it from him automatically, and almost heaved at the smell. There was nothing wrong with it, but just the thought of eating _anything_ made her stomach roll violently.

“I’m not hungry.” She insisted, attempting to pass it back to him.

“Damn stubborn as a mule.” He grouched, sinking down beside her, and snatching the rabbit back. “Ye suit each other in that, ye ken.”

“Murtagh, please!” She cried, drawing her knees up and burying her face in her skirts. “Just don’t. I’m begging you. I’m exhausted, and I just…can’t.”

She wanted to stuff her fingers in her ears like a child, singing _la la la_ until Murtagh got the message and left her the hell alone. But even in her overwrought state she wasn’t that rude, and she’d probably find herself at the pointy end of his dirk if she did.

“I ken something of heartache, lass, an’ I pray ye’ll no have to suffer as I have.” He whispered, despite her protests. The misery in his voice tugged at what was left of her heart, and she rolled her head to look at him.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered back as she watched him stare blindly down the road, suddenly feeling guilty. His pain was written clearly on his face and without thinking she reached over and gently laid a hand on his arm.

“Ach, t’was years before ye were even born.” He sighed, patting her hand softly as he turned to look at her. “But I fell just as fast an’ hard as I’v watch ye do, an’ I dinna wanna see ye close yerself off as I did. T’is a lonely road, lass. So dinna be so stubborn. He said ye could ask him, so ask.”

“He told you.” She murmured confirming what she’d already suspected. In any other situation she’d be mortified, but she was so far past giving a shit, that she just shrugged and slowly removed her hand from his arm.

“Aye. After a bottle of whiskey an’ a good bash ‘round his head. For all the good it did.” He huffed producing a whiskey skin and offering it to her with a wink.

She laughed sadly and took it from him.

“What secrets are you trying to get from me?”

“None, but I’v set ye a pallet up no far from the fire an it will help ye sleep. Things always look better in the morning, lass.” He told her quietly, and placed a gentle, fatherly hand on her shoulder, squeezing it slightly.

“Thank you.” She sniffled, then wiped her eyes on her sleeve, and took a healthy swing of the burning spirit.

 

Murtagh had laid the furs on a thick blanket of heather, and drunk on the vast quantity of whiskey she’d consumed, she stumbled and all but fell onto the soft pallet. She heard Murtagh’s quiet chuckle and sighed gratefully as he covered her with her plaid and left her to sleep.

But she couldn’t sleep. With her back to the fire, she once again fixed her eyes on the empty road, and waited.

And waited and waited.

Tears streamed silently down her face, unstoppable as she listened to the quiet, mournful voice of Graham as he sang quietly in Gaelic. Although she didn’t understand the words, the minor notes spoke to her of heartache and loss, and she gave herself to them, as she softly cried herself to sleep.

Her dreams were heavy and disjointed. Scenes of ancient battles, war cries and rivers of blood, blended seamlessly with a gentle summer breeze and a child’s laughter, as they were chased by Jamie through a field of barley. Her heart ached as she watched, frozen on the sidelines, an invisible spectator to his world.

At some point she felt the thundering beat of horses echo thought the ground, and heard the jubilant cries of men home from war. But she didn’t wake, not really. Like in her dreams, she was trapped on the outskirts, hovering on the edge of consciousness as life went on around her.

“Shh, mo gràdhag, dinna weep.” Jamie whispered softly, brushing a gentle hand down her cheek. Her heart stuttered and she almost reached for his hand when she heard quiet footsteps approach.

“Ye love her.”

There was a long drawn out silence after Brian spoke, and unsure whether she really was awake or still asleep, she tried to keep her breath deep and even as her heart pounded in her chest. She wanted nothing more than to fling herself into Jamie’s arms, to check for herself that he was alive and unharmed, but she couldn’t. He wasn’t hers to care for, or rejoice with, and despite the pain it would cause, she needed to know what he would say.

If he said anything at all.

She felt him move, and the fingers on her face gently traced her cheek and slid up into her hair. More tears fell and he sighed quietly.

“I shouldna.” He whispered painfully, “But Lord God help me, I do.”

Her heart stopped completely before thumping back to life at twice it’s natural rhythm. He loved her, and while joy should have followed his quiet deceleration, there was nothing but pain, and she shattered into a million tiny pieces. The agony in his voice mirrored her own, and she wanted to wail at fates cruelty.

“She’s so like ye mam.” Brian laughed softly his voice slightly closer than before. She felt the air move and heard the quiet rustle of grass, as he sat down beside his son. “She’s so strong and fierce. Woe to any man who’d stood in her way after ye fell. Rupert was lucky she didna have a dirk, as was I when she came at me in the clearin’.”

Jamie laughed quietly as he twisted and unwound a lock of her hair around his finger, over and over. It was as soothing as it was terrifying. She wanted him more than her next breath, but he wasn’t hers to covert.

“Murtagh said…”

“Aye, I heard.”

“Ye may have heard, son, but did ye listen?” Brian chastised him gently. “You’v no told her of Annalise. Ye ken she loves ye, yet ye hidin’ from her.”

“I’m no hidin’. I’v know her but six days. I’v never…I dinna ken _how_ to tell her. I’v been racking my brains, tryin’ to find a way. I thought I had time before we left for Lallybroch. I didna expect Laoghaire to…”

“Did ye no?” Brian scoffed. “The wee bitch has been after ye for years, ye ken that laddie, an’ all evidence aside, I didna raise a fool James Fraser. Ye hurtin, and ye ken I understand that, but the choices ye makin’ will lead to nothin’ but pain…an’ it’s no just ye own heart ye breakin’. The poor lass is weepin’ in her sleep.”

“I canna do it to her.” Jamie cried desperately, “I canna love her, and keep her safe, when my lovin’ her will kill her. Ye ken that better than anyone.”

Brian’s sigh was laced with frustration and Claire felt it in the very marrow of her bones. It was clear that Brian didn’t trust Laoghaire, but if she read between the lines, the girl hadn’t lied to her, she’d simply told her what Jamie wasn’t ready to. As for the rest, it made no sense at all.

This was either the strangest dream she’d ever had, or she needed to stop feigning sleep and do as Murtagh said and ask him. The time for hiding was over, for both of them.

“Ye’v a right to be scairt, ye’d be a fool no to be. But it’s no just ye’r choice to make. Given my time again with ye mam, even knowin’ the consequences, I wouldna change a damn thing. I loved her, and I lost her, but she was mine, an’ I’ll cherish that to my dyin’ day.

“Now t’is almost dawn, and ye willna sleep. So wake the poor lass an’ talk to her. Maybe she’ll talk some sense into ye.”

She felt, rather than heard Brian stand and walk away, and a heavy silence fell over them. Her heart was lodged in her throat, choking her as it thudded there painfully. She was too afraid to move, to think, or to hope.

Murtagh had warned her, as he dragged her from her room, not to judge what she didn’t know. But still lost in the shock of Laoghaire’s revelations, she’d dismissed him and instantly thought the worst of Jamie. But things were obviously not as they seemed, and if she was ever going to understand him, she was going to have to swallow her pain and pride and ask.

She may never get another chance. Once they arrived at Lallybroch, he’d be with his wife, and whether he loved her or not, she knew that he was a good man and he wouldn’t disrespect his wife by being alone with her at their home.

She heard him sigh, and the hand that had been still playing in her hair, gently moved back to her face, and he drew a calloused finger softly down her cheek. Fresh tears fell and he brushed them away before sliding his hand to her shoulder and squeezing it gently.

“Claire.” He whispered awakening the swarm of butterflies in the pit of her stomach. “Wake up, lass.” He shook her gently and taking one last breath to steady herself, she let her eyes flutter open.

They were swollen and blurry with tears, but in the last dying embers of the fire, she could just make out his perfect face. It was etched in fear, and cloaked in such sadness that she couldn’t speak through the lump in her throat.

“Shh.” He breathed, catching a tear on the edge of her lashes, “Come, we need to talk, and we canna do it here.”

She nodded silently, and clasped her fingers around his, as he helped her slowly to her feet. Without a word he scooped down to collect her plaid, and lay it carefully over her shoulders before taking her hand back in his and guiding her away from the fire.

Brimstone stood waiting, already saddled, and Jamie quickly lifted Claire and placed her atop the horse, before swinging up behind her and guiding her back against his chest. He was warm and solid, and although she knew she shouldn’t, she settled against him, listening to his strong heart thumping wildly beneath her ear.

“Your arm.” She protested as he wrapped them around her, took the reigns and moved Brimstone slowly along the path.

“Doesna matter right now.” He murmured, tightening his hold on her. She wanted to chastise him, aware as she was of the damage he could do. But she felt him press his lips against her hair and realised that worse damage had already been done.

This, right here, in his arms was where she belonged. Despite the changing history, despite Joe’s letter, and Annalise, and his children, she knew this was her place. That it could never be, that she’d landed in a time where he was already taken, destroyed her completely, because she knew beyond a doubt that he was the other half of her soul.

She’d travelled over five hundred miles, and almost three hundred years to find him, and if this last embrace was all she would get she’d take it. Brian had said it perfectly. If she was given the chance all over again, knowing the consequences, she’d take it and cherish it until her dying day.

They rode in silence, moving off the path and through the forest. The night sky had lightened with the coming dawn, just enough for them to see their way, but she had a feeling that Jamie didn’t need it, he already knew where he was going.

As they passed through the last of the trees and into a clearing, Claire’s breath caught in her throat. They were at the top of a ridge, and as the sun slowly rose over the mountains she could see for miles. It was so beautiful, so peaceful, with no sound but their quiet breathing and the steady beat of their hearts.

“Callum dropped a knee to Argyll.” He told her quietly, as he swung off the horse and held his arms up to help her down. She lent forward, almost falling into his embrace, and sighed as he slowly slid her body against his. “Everything ye’r eye touches now belongs to him.”

He turned her to face the view and, giving her time to pull away, he slowly wound his arms around her waist and pulled her back against him.

“It wasn’t always that way. When I left for France at nineteen, we owned one small patch of land, just beyond the mountain way there.” He breathed, pointing to a pass she could just make out in the distance. “Lallybroch. It was gifted to him by my Grandsire when he wed, and he built the house with his own bare hands.”

“What changed?” She whispered back causing him to laugh hollowly and tighten his hold.

“Eveythin’.” He sighed releasing her and stepping away.


	13. Chapter 13

Already missing his arms, and wishing she hadn’t spoken, she watched as he carefully unbuckled his plaid, and laid it out on the grass just shy of the ridge. He sat and turned to her, holding out his hand for her to take, and she didn’t hesitate. Slipping her fingers between his, she walked forward and allowed him to guide her to sit between his legs.

“It’s easier when I’m touching ye.” He whispered reverently as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close.

_And so much harder._ She thought closing her eyes, willing her tears away. She didn’t feel at all ready for what he was about to say. Until the words left his lips, in her own way, she could still pretend that he was hers. That she could have the life with him she so desperately wanted. Especially with the way he held her now, so safe and protected in his embrace.

“I met Annalise de Marillac in Paris.” He began quietly, his voice slow and peaceful, as though telling her was cathartic, and he was finally letting go of the pain he carried. “I’d no long finished at the university, and was stayin’ with my cousin Jared. He owns a wine merchants there and I decided to stay awhile, learnin’ the ropes, no quite ready to go back to life on the farm.

“She was a young widow. Beautiful, flirtatious and had all the men of Versailles eatin’ out of the palm of her hand, includin’ me.” He laughed self deprecatingly as she fixed her eyes on the horizon and tried to breathe. “I fought a duel in her honour when I caught a man accostin’ her, and some weeks later, as a reward for winnin’ she said, she invited me to her bed.”

Claire’s breath stuttered, and the vast quantities of whiskey she’d consumed the night before, rolled violently in her stomach. She didn’t want to listen to him talking about having sex with his wife, she _really_ wasn’t ready for that. Just the thought of him in bed with another woman was enough to cripple her. But she had to know, no matter the cost. So she took a deep breath and simply prayed she’d get thought it without vomiting.

“I was a twenty year old virgin, out from under the watchful eye of my father for the first time, and blind with lust and innocent naivety, I accepted.

“It was nothin’ and everythin’ I expected it to be. I’d heard stories of women no likin’ it, maybe no to such an extent, but I wasna surprised that she didna. It was both…terrifyin’ and euphoric and over verra, verra quickly. But her fear and hatred for it made me feel like a beast. So it surprised me when that she came back for more.” He admitted so quietly she could almost feel his shame enveloping her as surely as his arms did.

He fell quiet for a moment, lost in the memory no doubt, and she didn’t even dare to breathe as she watched the sunrise and waited uneasily for him to continue.

“It dinna take long for Jared to discover what was happenin’, but by the time he told me the truth of her, my infatuation had waned. I’d seen it for myself, an’ it was no a difficult thing to promise no to see her again.”

“What truth?” She whispered hesitantly. With each word he told her of his wife, of wanting her and sleeping with her, her heart broke a little more. So she’d be lying if she said that she wasn’t a little pleased that the sex had been…awful… or that he’d lost some of his interest.

Even if it did make her a bad person.

Jamie sighed and pulled her closer still.

“Her _joie de vivre_ hid a nefarious soul, Sassenach. Since the death of her husband she’d been on the prowl for a wealthy man, someone to keep her in the life she was accustomed to. What I’d taken for flirtation and wit, was naught but manipulation and cunnin’. Being a relative of Jared she’d wrongly assumed I was a wealthy as he was, but she’d couldna been more wrong. At the time I barely had two pounds to my name.

“But still under her illusions, she came to me, a week before I was to return home, and told me she was carrying my bairn. I had my doubts, but with no proof that it wasna mine, I did the only thing I could.”

“You married her.”

“Aye.” He muttered as though even the memory of it pained him to the core. “She hated Lallybroch, she hated me, and she hated the bairn she carried.

“Ye ken,” he laughed bitterly, “I didna see her once after I returned from Fort William. She kent well enough that I was close to death, I heard her and Jenny fightin’ more than once. She was hopin’ the fever would take me, so she could return to Paris a widow once more. Then my da announced that he’d inherited the Duchy, and she changed overnight. Couldna do enough to see me well.

“Ye see, we suddenly had more land and more money than she could spend in a life time, and she received the title she thought she deserved.”

“Marchioness of Lorne.” Claire almost spat, disgusted.

She’d already hated the woman on jealous principal. But the bitch had not only tricked him in to marriage, she’d practically declared him not good enough, and wished him dead.

_Until the fucking money and title came in of course!_

She wanted to scream at the injustice of it all. It wasn’t fair. She loved him for nothing more than himself, and ached to love and care for him like he deserved. But the French whore had stolen him and there was nothing she could do.

“Aye.” Jamie sighed, as he tightened his arms and laid his cheek against her hair. She wrapped her arms around his and linked their fingers at her waist, giving and receiving what little comfort she could.

“There was no love between us, there never had been. So even after the money came in we kept to ourselves. Separate rooms, separate lives. But mine or no, I loved the bairn, he was the one good thing to come out of our marriage. But carrying him was hard on her, she couldna take the strain and she lost him at six months,” he breathed stunning her into silence.

His heartache was so abundantly clear that she could feel it, and as much as she tried, she just couldn’t swallow past the painful lump in her throat.

“What…I mean, did you name him?” She croaked, swiping a tear from her cheek and trying her hardest not to cry for him.

_Oh, Jamie._

“Aye, I named him David. She never asked that, ye ken. She didna care. The birth left her with a fever, but even after she recovered she never asked. She was more concerned with the continuation of the title than she was his death. So I mourned alone and buried him in the kirk yard at Lallybroch.”

“I’m so sorry, Jamie. I can’t even begin to imagine the pain of losing a child.” She whispered, squeezing the hands she still held in hers. Even in the twenty first century woman lost children every day, and whether six weeks or six months the lost was always a devastating one.

She felt his lips against her hair, a sign of his acknowledgment, and she turned her face and pressed hers against his arm, the only place she could reach. Annalise may not care, but she did. He loved her, his heart was hers and hers alone, and she’d keep it as safe and protected as she could. Even if only from a distance.

How she was supposed to face this woman and not bitch slap her, she didn’t know.

“After that she insisted we leave Scotland. She said she needed society and I was wrought with guilt for what she’d been through. So I agreed an’ moved us to the new townhouse in London. We still lived separate lives for the most part, me at the club and she with her friends, and I was miserable. But she flourished, and amongst her friends, who were producing heirs, she became determined to provide the future Duke.

“Things had never been good between us. She’d kept me from her rooms since our weddin’ night in France, an’ I wasna bothered by it. She’d never gotten over her hatred for it, no matter how gentle I tried to be. So I was surprised when she invited me to her bed, an’ none too enthusiastic. But with the Dukedom I _did_ need an heir, an’ I still wanted a bairn.

“She lost two more in London. The first early, and the second again at six months. A wee lass, Catherine. Each time it took her longer to recover and I refused to try again. I’d seen my mam go though the same thing and I didna want to be responsible for her death.

“She castigated me. Claimed I was makin’ her a laughin’ stock. Said that no true woman would be unable to provide her husband with an heir. She didna care for the bairns, she’d already interviewed for a nurse, for after they were born. But she wanted the notoriety of being mother to a Duke.

“We were back at Lallybroch visiting Jenny when she told me she was with child again. I hated myself. I’d been weak, and in a moment of need I’d given in. Just once, but it was enough. She was confined to her bed, an’ she saw it through almost to the end, but she was sick and weak. She died in child birth and wee Robert just three days later.” He finished, choking on his near silent words.

_She died?_

_Oh my God!_

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, and could hardly see through her tears. He’d lost them, _all of them_ , and whether he loved his wife or not, his pain and guilt, no matter how misplaced the latter might be, must be debilitating, and her heart broke for him.

Still too stunned to speak, she slowly pulled away and crawled to her knees before him. The tears in his eyes were her undoing, and she threw her arms around him, holding him as tight and as close as she could.

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry, Jamie.” She stuttered, locking her fingers in his hair, as she rocked them both slowly side to side. His arms tightened around her, and he held on as though she was his only anchor to the world. For the first time in her life, she genuinely didn’t know what to say. She had no words that could offer him comfort as his body trembled in her arms.

She had no idea how long it had been since he lost them, but it was clear that his heartache was still raw. He said he’d mourned for David, but he’s said nothing of Catherine and Robert.

_Two boys and a lass._

These were the children Laoghaire had cheerfully told her about, and she wanted nothing more than to ride back to Leoch and kick ten tons of shit out of the bitch. What she’d hoped to achieve with her bullshit story Claire didn’t know, but if it was to keep her away from Jamie, she’d almost succeeded, and Claire hated herself for it.

But Jamie had his arms around her and no matter how much she wanted to kill her, she’d never even dream of leaving him. Not now, not ever. He had healing to do, and she intended to be there with him every step of the way.

His pain for there loss was one thing, but the guilt was a totally different matter all together, and it had no place in his grief. It would do nothing but taint the memory of his children, and she couldn’t let him do that to himself. He needed to mourn them all with a clear conscience.

“I can’t even pretend to understand how you must feel. Losing one child is unimaginable, but to lose four and your wife…I can’t…there are no words.” She whispered into his hair, holding him tighter, pulling him closer to her heart. “But you can’t hold yourself responsible, Jamie. It’s terrifying and heartbreaking but it is not your fault. Even in the twenty first century where we can transplant hearts and do brain surgery, child birth and pregnancy still always have some element of danger, and we still lose mothers and babies sometimes.”

Her whole world spun so suddenly that her equilibrium completely shattered. For a moment she didn’t know up from down until she found herself lying prone on the plaid, staring up dazedly into Jamie’s stormy, blue eyes.

“No, Sassenach, ye dinna understand. Ye dinna understand at all.”

“Jamie…”

“No.” He breathed, dropping closer, resting his weight on his arm beside her head. His other hand, the one that should be strapped to his side, came up and he gently cupped her face. She was cocooned, sheltered from the world by his large frame. All she could see, feel and smell was him.

“Aye, I lost the bairns, an’ I mourned them, every one. But it was years ago, almost two now since I lost Robert. I loved them, and it pains me that they gone, that I’ll never see them grow. But I let go of my guilt for Annalise a long time ago. I’m no God, I ken it wasna my fault, no really.”

“Then what?” She pleaded reaching up to touch his face. “Because if that’s the case, you’re right, I don’t understand.”

“Can ye no see, Claire?” He begged passionately, his strong voice just touching desperation and tearing at her heart. “Ye appear in my life from nowhere. So strong and brave, kind, beautiful and so verra fragile. Yer everything she wasna, and everything I’v yearned for.

“I’v loved ye since the moment ye wept in my arms, an' I want ye with a passion that boarders on madness. When ye lost yerself, when ye trembled against me an’ I realised what had happened.” He shook his head in reverence as his own body trembled above her. “Ah, lass, how I dinna take ye then…”

“You could have, you still can.” She whispered longingly, her need for him enveloping her sadness. “I’m yours, Jamie. I’ve been yours my entire life, and I want you too. I _love_ you too, more than anything or anyone.”

His eyes clouded with pain, and he closed them, shutting her out as he dropped his forehead against hers. She was shaking uncontrollably, and her heart hammered so loudly she could hear it. He loved her, he wanted her, and she was his for the taking. Yet he was still denying them their happiness, and any hope she might have felt was trapped behind his fear.

“How can I, Claire?” He begged as he pulled back and locked his pain filled eyes on hers. “How can I love ye and keep ye? How can I make ye mine an no lose ye forever? I promised myself I would never put another lass through that…an I havena. But ye, mo gràdhag? I’m going mad with the wanting of ye, but I willna risk ye life. I willna lose ye with my selfish desires, and I canna bare the thought of ye fearing my touch.”

_Oh God._

“Jamie, stop!” She pleaded urgently her hands coming up to grasp his shoulders. She pushed him gently, aware of his injury, but she could have kicked herself when she saw the panic in his eyes as he quickly rolled away. “No.” She whispered as she follow him with her own body and rolled atop him, straddling his hips. “It’s my turn to talk.”

His hands went automatically to her waist, steadying her and keeping her in place. But his eyes widened and she couldn’t hide her small smirk as she dropped her hands beside his head.

“Sassenach…”

“Sshh.” She murmured, stretching her thumbs to brush across his cheeks. “Things in my time are different, relationships are different. Men and woman flit between one love and the next, sometimes settling down and getting married, sometimes not. They live together unwed, have children, separate, and move on to the next conquest. It’s like it’s all a game.

“The notion of love at first sight, to feel that instant connection, and to know someone’s soul when you’ve never spoken a word, is so foreign that it’s scoffed at and scorned. But it’s real, and it’s here between us.”

“Ceart-leth.” He breathed, gliding one hand along her body and up into her hair. “Soulmates.”

She wanted to cry at the tenderness in his voice and the way he touched her so lovingly. But her eyes were locked on his, and she could see everything, and wanted to miss nothing. It was all there, every fear, every pain, every ounce of love he held for her shone in his clear blue eyes, and she knew that he was right. They were soulmates separated by time and brought together by fate.

“I travelled almost three hundred years to find you, Jamie.” She whispered softly as her fingers slowly traced these lines of his face. “You’ve been hurt more than any man should have to endure. Nothing will ever take away the grief of losing your children, nor should it. But by your own admission, what you had with Annalise wasn’t love, and you deserve to be loved.

“You’re the best man I’ve ever known, and I could never fear your touch. I crave it. I need it like I need air to breathe, like I need _you_. I can’t promise you that we will never lose a child, every pregnancy carries a risk. But I promise to mourn with you if we do, to give you comfort, and share in your pain.

“I’ve met our great grandson, Jamie and he’s so like you. So honourable, and strong and compassionate.”

“What?” He frowned, his eyes a kaleidoscope of wonder and confusion. She laughed lightly and drew her thumb over his eyebrow, straightening the crease.

“Joe.” She smiled, picturing his face in her mind and feeling the first wave of maternal love and pride for the man he is. “I didn’t know of course. But you asked me why he didn’t stop me when he knew about the stones. That’s why.”

“He gave you the plaid.” He breathed with awe as he gently touched the cloth that still covered her shoulders.

“Yes. His mothers name is Elizabeth Mary Fraser and she has the most wonderful riot of bright red hair.”

“I canna lose ye, Claire.” He begged helplessly as he brought both hands up to cup her face. “I’v never been so scairt in my life. I dinna ken how to love ye, to have ye as my wife an’ no want to always be inside ye. To feel ye warmth an watch ye fall apart in my arms. But I dinna ken how to let ye go.”

“Jamie, you never have to let me go.” She promised gently. “I’m an only child, and an orphaned one at that. I’ve always dreamed of having a big family. But I won’t force you, or cajole you, there _are_ ways to prevent a pregnancy, and I do have some with me.”

“There are?”

“Yes. So, If you don’t want us to have children, we don’t have to have any, even if we make love everyday for the rest of our lives. But I won’t lie to you, I don’t _want_ to use them. I want to have as many children with you as we can. But I will if you want me too, and if it’s just you and me for the rest of our lives, then I’ll die a happy woman.

“But we can never predict what will happen. I could have so easily lost _you_ yesterday from simply falling from your horse. And I’m not Annalise, she could have had any number of diseases that prevented her from carrying a child. You weren’t the only man she’d been with, she could have caught anything from anyone…and I’m suddenly extremely grateful that Joe sent penicillin.” She added her eyes suddenly wide at the thought.

“Why?”

“Because sexually transmitted diseases are rife and easily exchanged through…bodily fluid. If she had one, then so did you, and you would have passed it to me when we eventually make love. Before I stuck you with the needle anyway.”

His lips twitched, and before she could blink, he twisted and she found herself beneath him once again.

“So sure of yerself are ye, Sassenach?” He breathed, looming over her rakishly.

“Yes.” She laughed teasingly as she wound her fingers in his hair. “You love me, and you can’t live without me. The rest of it is just details that we’ll work out together.”

“Aye, as ye say, lass.” He blinked owlishly, then swiftly silenced her laughter with his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so AO3 is all unto date with what I have written so far. I have quite a quick posting schedule so the next one should be out in the next day or so.
> 
> I hope your enjoying my little AU and you can find me under Mo Neigean Donn 1743 on Tumblr


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one comes with a mild NSFW warning :0)

“If you don’t keep that arm still, James Fraser, I _will_ strap it to your side.” Claire threatened quietly as she raised her dancing fingers from his chest, and reached down to clasp the hand that was slowly tracing the outer edge of her thigh. Her soft, melodic voice was muffled by the fabric of his shirt, and he smiled as he ignored her warning and drew his hand up to her luscious arse.

“Later.” He breathed, flexing his fingers and throughly enjoying the soft moan that brushed past her lips. “Ye’v a verra fine arse, Sassenach.”

“It’s fat.”

“Aye.” He agreed rolling to face her and drawing her leg up over his hip, her arse still held firmly in his hand. “T’is.”

She gaped at him, but any protest she may have made were lost on a breath as he pressed his lips to hers. He tightened his hold, pulling her as close as he could and she came easily, wrapping herself around him, melting against him. Her body was warm and subtle against his, as their lips moved together in a soft, slow, deep embrace.

His tongue sought out hers and she surrendered it, touching it to his in a tender caress. Teasing, tasting, learning over and over, mirroring the faint, easy movement of her hips. He groaned deep in the back of his throat, part in pain, part in bliss as he rolled his arm, helping her move.

Every touch, every caress, every sigh was new. He’d never kissed, held or loved a woman like he did Claire. Before her, he’d never felt the comfort of a woman’s embrace, the delicate touch of love, or the utter ecstasy of being lost within a moment together.

It was as frightening as it was euphoric and his heart pounded wildly in his chest, as he was engulfed in the flames of the contradictory emotions.

“Ah, Claire.” He breathed, his voice near silent as she glided her lips and tongue along his jaw, down his neck, and to a spot just behind his ear. Lightening rippled through his body, and his hips jerked against hers, seeking friction through their clothing, as she buried her fingers in his hair and gently grazed her teeth against his flesh.

He wanted her, needed her, craved her, loved her. Yet each overwhelming desire brought him ever closer to losing her. It had been naught but an hour since he surrendered to her with a kiss, and despite her soft reassurances, he was still caught in the grasp of deep seated fear.

“Ye make my heart feel like it’s about to burst.” He murmured, winding her hair around his wrist and guiding her lips back to his. He kissed her long, hard and deep, bruising their lips as his hand moved from her arse to her hip, gently slowing her movements.

“We need to stop.” She panted breathlessly when their lips eventually parted. She blinked up at him, her whiskey eyes dark with desire, and her lips so red and swollen that he longed to claim them once more.

“Aye.”

“I love you so much, Jamie.” She sighed tightening her fingers in his hair, rubbing them against his scalp, making his eyes almost roll into the back of his head.

His heart stuttered and keeping her close he lay back, and tucked her into his side, as he tried to catch his breath.

“As I love ye, mo gràdhag.”

Talking to her, telling her of his pain and loss had been far easier than he feared it would be. With her gentle care and soft words of love, she’d giving him the courage to speak of the bairns as he never had before, and the strength to remember them without the ache of grief.

She was the balm to his wounded soul, a guiding light in the darkness, his home, his heart, his love. She was everything he wanted, everything he’d longed for, everything it would kill him to lose.

He tightened his arm around her, pulling her body closer to his. She was here, safe and protected in his embrace, her head resting on his chest, and her wee body curled up around him.

But for how long?

How long before all the love and desire that brought them together, tore them apart? That he was hers and she his was undeniable. He could no more send her away now, than he could tear out his own heart.

But he could do naught to stem that terror that raged stronger than ever. She wanted a family, and while the thought of seeing her round with his bairn warmed his heart, that warmth could do nothing to to ward off the ice that followed in its wake.

“I want it too, ye ken.” He whispered, pressing his lips tenderly against her forehead.

“You want what?”

“The life ye envisage.” He sighed. Her fingers had resumed their soft dance along the contours of his stomach, over his shirt, but he could still feel her burning touch, and he welcomed the comfort that small action brought him.

“I can picture it easily. The days spent playin’ with the bairns, workin’ the fields, taking care of the tenants. An’ the nights spent worshipin’ ye body, takin’ ye, making ye mine, creatin’ new life.” He murmured longingly, “I want it. I want to see ye body change an’ grow. I want to see ye with my bairn at ye breast. I want to see ye surrounded by children, the house alive with their laughter…”

“But you’re still scared.” She finished for him, raising up on her elbow to look down at him.

“I’m no scairt, Sassenach. I’m petrified.”

Her eyes softened, and every heartbreakingly tender emotion she felt for him shone clear in their depths, warming his soul. So gently he hardly noticed, she brought her hand up to cup his face and lent down to press her lips delicately to his.

“I know you are, and I can understand why, but I’m here, Jamie, now, in your arms. I’m young, strong and healthy, and if we’re blessed with children I’ll do everything in my power to ensure you never lose us.

“Life is full of what ifs and maybe’s and I don’t want to live second guessing every choice we make. If we decided to have children, I want it to be the most joyful time of our lives. But _my_ greatest fear is that _your_ fears will prevent us from ever being truly happy. I’d rather never have children than know that every time you touch me, you’re scared to death of the consequence. We can’t live like that.”

Her forehead fell to his, and he closed his eyes, and pulled her body down against him. She was right, he knew that rationally, but fears are very rarely rational, and her words did little to ease the anxiety that knotted his stomach.

“Just bare with me, lass.” He begged. “I canna ever promise no to worry. But I willna let my fears taint my joy of having ye, and I willna take measures to withhold what only God may bestow.”

“I love you. I’m here to share your worries and fears, I don’t want you to hide them from me. I just want you to be able feel the happiness and joy you deserve. You’re such a good man, Jamie and your life has been so hard. All I want to do is bring you peace and love, to see you laugh and be happy and…for you to _stop_ moving that bloody arm!” She huffed pulling away from him and sitting up on the plaid. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He blinked up at her, confused by her sudden shift, until he realised that the arm in question was curled up above him, supporting his head, and he winced.

His startled looked was sheepish and adorable, and Claire couldn’t hide the twitch of her lips as she attempted to frown at him in displeasure. She shouldn’t have let it go on so long, but their morning had been heavy with confessions and declarations, and he hadn’t been really using it as they’d lay on the ridge, silently watching the clouds.

But enough was enough.

And she wanted to lighten the mood.

“Lets go.” She ordered, maneuvering her skirts around her legs and clambering to her feet.

“Come now, lass, t’is no so bad. I dinna need it…”

“Now, Lord Lorne…do as you’re told, because I won’t tell you again.” She winked before twirling on the spot and walking towards Brimstone, being careful not to step on any hidden rocks or twigs with her bare feet.

“Where are we goin?”

“To the river we passed on the way here. We both need to bathe so there’s no point in strapping you up only to have to undo it all again.”

“Ye dinna mean…”

“Dinna fash, lad.” She teased trying to keep a straight face as he snorted a laugh, “I willna look a ye bits.”

Despite their fit of laughter, it didn’t take them long to gab his belongings and make the short trek back towards the river. It was private and secluded, and more beautiful than Claire had realized when she noticed it in passing. There were no falls, as there had been in the last stream she’d bathed in, but it was deep, and the cool waters were crystal clear and promised a welcome reprieve from the late morning sun. 

Whomever had saddled the horse, had also thought to attach her bags and, after giving the beast a loving pat, she accepted Jamie’s help to dismount and quickly unstrapped them.

“I want to check your knife wound before you go in.” She told him as he took her bags from her and walked towards the water. “It should be knitted together nicely and we need to let it breathe now.” The dressing really should have been changed a couple of days ago, but as he’d been AWOL she hadn’t been able to tend to it.

“I kent ye might.” He huffed playfully as he placed the bags on the grass and sank down beside them. “Do ye worst.”

“You’re going to have to get used to being cared for, being married to a doctor.” She smirked kneeling before him and reaching for his wrist to quickly unbutton the the cuff of his shirt. His jacket, cravat and waistcoat had been lost in their passion and he hadn’t bothered to put them back on when they’d left the ridge. “And if you behave, I still have chocolate…”

“Still so sure of yerself.” He laughed offering her his other arm and making no protest when she tugged at his shirt and pulled it free of his kilt. “ I dinna recall asking ye to marry me, lass.”

“A slight error or your part, I agree.” She huffed sternly as she pulled his good arm free and gently eased the shirt over his head. “But one I’m sure you’ll see fit to rectify soon enough.”

He laughed, and as she carefully guided the material down his injured arm, she silenced him, capturing his lips briefly between hers. His good arm wrapped around her, trying to hold her there, but she slapped it away and pulled back.

“I’m no sure I want such a violent wife.” He remarked rubbing the place she’s just slapped.

“You may end up with one regardless, but she probably won’t be able to patch up any damage she does.” She smirked, pushing lightly on his good shoulder to ease him back. As soon as he was lay prone on the grass, she hitched her skirts and straddled his waist, making sure to fidget as she made herself comfortable. “Now, it seems we have a few ailments to treat.”

“Aye,” he croaked gripping her hips, “An’ they’ll be a few more if ye dinna quit ye wiggling around.”

She giggled, most likely worsening his problem, if his low agonized groan, and the sudden stirrings beneath her were anything to go by.

“A man can only take so much, lass.”

“Well we can always leave the chocolate for another day, I’m sure I can think of something else to reward your good behavior.” She purred as she placed her hands on his chest and slowly rolled her hips.

“Claire…”

“You’ve got the body of a God, Jamie, and I’m only human.” She whispered leaning forward to capture his lips once again. Her hair fell like a curtain around them and he buried his fingers in the flowing curls, and gently pulled her head back.

“Ah, ye slay me, Sassenach. But I willna take yer mai…” he froze, his brow furrowing as he regarded her thoughtfully, “Ye…what I…ye said that in yer time couples dinna always wed, an’ I kent I wasna when I…but did ye…have ye…”

He sighed in frustration and her own brows furrowed trying to understand what he was trying to say. She’d never heard him so tongue tied, and after everything they’d talked about that morning she had no idea what could render him speechless.

But then he moved beneath her and when she once again felt the evidence of his need, she realized what he was trying to ask and blushed.

“No.” She whispered, leaning back over him, shielding them with her hair once again. “I’ve never made love to anyone. I’m still a virgin, and I have no intention of giving that up in a quicky by a stream. No matter how much I want you, I’ll come to your bed a maid on our wedding night.”

She felt him twitch beneath her, and her body responded to his, sending a shiver of pleasure though her core. She’d been so tempted today to just say fuck it and let him take her, but there was more than one voice of reason for her to listen to, and she’d waited this long, what was a few more months? She wanted their wedding night to be special, and as it should be in the time she now belonged.

But God damn it, she wasn’t a saint and he was just so fucking sexy. Just the way his kilt and plaid danced down the back of his legs was enough to send her weak at the knees.

And turnabouts is fairplay.

“You like that thought don’t you?” She breathed against his lips, “Knowing that I’ll belong to you and no one else.”

“Lord God, woman.” He moaned letting his head fall back. “Ye a temptress.”

“Maybe, but there are other ways to give and receive pleasure without making love, you know. And _that_ I plan to do as often as possible.” She winked sitting up and reaching for her bag. “But I think we’ve tempted fate enough for now.”

He groaned quietly and she giggled again as she moved back down his legs so she could get to the dressing on his stomach. Holding his skin taunt, she carefully pealed back a corner, then without warning ripped the whole thing off.

“God, ye’v an evil streak.”

“All doctors have I think.” He made that deep Scottish noise in the back of his throat, and she smiled up at him. “It looks really good, it’s healed nicely, but you still have to be careful, okay?”

“As ye say.”

“Good boy.” She smirked as she lent down and gently kissed over his scar. “There, all better.”

“No hardly.” He moaned screwing his eyes shut.

From her position she could clearly see the bulge that his kilt failed to hide and she bit her lip, feeling somewhat guilty for the pain he must be in. Like her, he’d been in a constant state of arousal since the first time they kissed this morning, and it must be far from comfortable. She couldn’t kiss it like she wanted to, not yet anyway, not without making sure there was no lingering side effects from his time with Annalise. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t do something.

After they’d washed up anyway.

With that thought in mind, she pulled her bag closer and rummaged through for the small case that contained the penicillin and a fresh syringe.

“I thought ye said it was healed.” He murmured as he eyed the needle warily, no doubt remembering the last time she’d stabbed him with it.

“It is, but I’ve been thinking…about what you said about Annalise…” she edged watching him cautiously, not wanting to bring her back between them.

“Aye, what of her?”

“It’s just…with the way she miscarried and delivered David and Catherine so early. Then losing both her and Robert, despite her being almost full term, and him being born alive…I just…there’s a possibility she might have had Syphilis.” She stumbled trying to rush through her explanation as all the colour drained from Jamie’s face.

“I might be wrong. Her death and the the loss of the babies could simply be down to nature, or a different illness all together. But I’m not willing to risk your health, my health or the health of any children we may have.”

“If I have it, we canna…

“We can.” She promised, reaching out to take his hand. “If you’d first slept with her recently then the dose of penicillin I gave you last week would have been enough to cure it. But it’s been over two years and, as far as I can tell, you’ve got no symptoms of the later stages…so you get three doses. One last week, one now, and one next week.”

“I’v never had any symptoms as far as I ken. But if I have got it and ye give me the…penicillin…it will cure it?”

“Yes.”

“Then ye best get on with it, lass.” He smiled, his relief obvious, as he sat up beneath her and offered her his arm. “I’ll no risk ye or the bairns either.”

“Thank you.” She whispered as she leaned forward to brush her lips to his. “But I’m sorry to say, sweetheart, that your arm just won’t do…this ones going in your arse.”

She was still giggling, and tears of laughter clouded her vision, as she fumbled uselessly with the fastening on the penicillin case.

“Yer a bloody sadist.” Jamie huffed, rubbing his sore arse cheek indignantly, and forcing her into a new round of childish giggles.

“Stop.” She begged her hands trembling as she dropped what she was holding and gripped her aching ribs. Corsets were obviously not designed with hysterical women in mind, and if he did stop she was going to break a rib. “Please.”

“Just ye wait, lass.” He grouched as he wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her to her feet. Her back was suddenly pressed against his chest, and he lent over and bit down gently on her ear. “It will be _my_ turn to stick _ye_ soon enough, then we’ll see who’s laughing.”

“Jamie.” She moaned unable to stop the small shiver that rippled over her skin. She could feel his cock pressing hard against the base of her spine, and she completely forgot what she’d been laughing about.

“Mmm, I kent that might sober ye a wee bit,” he teased wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her tighter against his body. “Now, I believe ye promised me a reward, Sassenach, an’ I intend to make ye pay it.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one comes with a NSFW warning!!!

Her eyes narrowed as she backed away from him, watching for any sudden movement, and trying to talk herself out of her next plan of attack. It was stupid and reckless, but he was just so much bigger and stronger than she was, that trying to fight him had been completely pointless. It had done nothing except leave her winded and breathless, and there was no way she could win if she kept it up.

So, it was time for drastic measures.

His lips twitched and she almost growled when he snapped off _another_ piece of chocolate and popped it in his mouth. He’d eaten almost half the bar already and she was just seconds away from stabbing him with his own dirk.

“Ye really should try some, Sassenach.” He mumbled around the melting square of chocolaty goodness in his mouth. “Ye dinna ken what ye missing.”

“I know exactly what I’m missing.” She panted, referring to more than just the chocolate he’d stolen. “But you’ve had your fun, so put it back before I do something we might _both_ regret.”

She’d been convinced, when he’d demanded his reward, that they’d find themselves rolling around on the floor again. But he swiftly side stepped her, grabbed the chocolate out of her bag, and hightailed it to the other side of the clearing. Her initial shock had outweighed her disappointment, but it was slowly creeping back in and she wanted to teach him a lesson.

And it was sure to backfire.

“I dinna think I will.”

“Fine, but you’ve only yourself to blame.”

Turning her back on him, she walked slowly back over to her bags, exaggerating the sway of her hips as she moved, and pulled out a pair of dark blue lacy boy shorts, a matching bra, and a bar of rose scented soap she’d found in her room a couple of days ago.

If he wanted to play dirty, then she’d show him dirty.

“If ye thinkin’ of sticking me with another needle, I’m gonna advise against it.” He warned, “Ye wee stick of chocolate’s getting’ smaller by the second.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she called back sweetly, as she bent and stepped into her knickers, shimmying them up under her skirts, as discreetly as she could. “If I was going to stab you with anything right now, you can believe it would be bigger than a syringe.”

Fortunately, the dress she had on today, served as her corset and laced up the front, so she didn’t need to ask for his help to get out of it. Turning back to face him, she held his slowly widening eyes and carefully removed the front panel of her dress, before dropping it on the floor at her feet.

“Claire…what are ye doin’?”

“Getting ready to wash.” She breathed, as she untied the bow and plucked lazily at the laces, undoing her dress.

“Sassenach.” He warned narrowing his eyes. “Dinna do it.” His voice was tight and slightly higher then it should be, and she bit down on her lip, hiding her smile as she dropped the top of her dress to the floor.

“What? Why? I can hardly bathe in my dress.”

He took a step towards her, and she took one back in response, as she quickly untied her skirts, petticoats and bum roll at her waist. She heard his breath catch and she giggled as she released the material and shimmed it to the floor. They fell in a pool around her feet and she carefully stepped over them and turned her back on him.

“How’s Donas by the way? I’ve been meaning to ask you, but we keep getting distracted.”

“Donas?…I…Claire ye canna…”

“I canna what?”

She looked at him over her shoulders and winked as she slowly pulled her arms free of her shift. The fabric was soft, and it slid easily down her body until it reached her hips. Looking away from him again, she slid her thumbs between her waist and the shift, gently wiggled her hips, and bent slowly to remove it from her legs and feet.

“A Dia! I warnin’ ye, lass!”

She giggled again and, perfectly aware of his view of her arse, covered as it was in sexy blue lace, she stayed bent as she reached for her bra and slowly slipped it on.

She been filled with righteous indignation when she started her little strip tease, but with his protests her nerves and doubts were getting the better of her. Taking a deep breath she slowly rose and turned to face him.

He was stood just a few feet away, frozen in place, as he stared at her in wide eyed astonishment. Her heart was pounding so furiously that she wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it. This would either be the best or the worst idea she’d ever had, and although she didn’t know which it would be, she was determined to see it though

“Care to wash my back?” She smirked, holding up the soap, amazed that her voice hadn’t wobbled.

He didn’t speak, but she saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, and she let her eyes run deliberately down his body, until they came to rest on the oh so obvious rise in his kilt. “Of course, if you’d rather have the chocolate…”

She raised an eyebrow and met his startled eyes for a moment before she turned her back on him and slowly walked towards the water.

“Stop!”

She froze where she was, heart pounding, hands shaking, and her knees barely holding her up. She listened to his soft footsteps, the quiet clink of metal, and the gentle swish of falling fabric, and knew without looking that he’d removed his kilt. But her breathe still caught in her throat as she felt the length of his naked body press along the length of hers.

His large, calloused hands came to rest on her hips and she shivered against him, as he drew her back and pressed his cock against the base of her spine.

“Ye playin’ with fire, mo gràdhag.” He breathed as he brushed his lips across her neck, and ran a hand slowly along her stomach and up to cup her breast. “Ye canna tease a man already so desperate for ye. Lord, ye skin’s like silk, and ye body…Jesus God…ye body’s a work of art. How am I supposed to resist ye?”

“You’re not.” She whispered, letting her head fall back onto his chest, as he gently kissed her neck, and massaged her breast through the lace of her bra. She was consumed by sensation, and it felt so fucking good, that she couldn’t hold back the small mewl that escaped her throat.

His cock twitched against her and she dropped a hand to his muscular thigh, holding him to her as she rolled her hips, encouraging him.

“I dinna ken what it is ye wearing, lass.” He groaned, fingering the side of her shorts. “But Christ, I hope ye’v got more.”

“I’ve got a few.” She laughed softly as she pulled out of his arms and took a step in to the cool water. The hand on her hip had been edging closer and closer to the place she wanted him the most. But if she was going to be touched by a man for the first time, it wasn’t going to be when she hadn’t washed in two days.

“Are you coming?” She asked, glancing over her shoulder, remembering too late that he was naked. “Fuck me!”

The words were out of her mouth before she realized, and she quickly slapped her hand over it as she stared at him wide eyed. She saw his shoulders shake, but she was too riveted on his midsection to notice whether or not his was actually laughing.

_Jesus fucking Christ!_

He was huge!

Not dangling around his knees, mistaken for a snake kind of huge. But long enough and thick enough, to make the virgin in her cross her legs and wonder where she could buy a chastity belt.

_That’s gonna hurt!_

“Aye, I plan on it.” He growled, snapping her out of her daze as he followed her into the water.

_Wanna bet?_

Her eyes shot up to meet his and she squeaked as he grabbed her and she suddenly found herself flung upside down over his shoulder.

_Definitely backfired!_

“Jamie! Put me down!” She giggled, planting her hands on his hips and attempting to push herself upright. “Your arm!” His hand came down in a sharp slap on her arse and, while it didn’t hurt exactly, the shock made her squeal, and she jerked against him, before desolving into laughter.

“Ye find that funny do ye?”

She snorted, unable to answer, and by the time he stopped in the middle of the stream, she was near hysterical with laughter. Tears streamed down her face, her stomach ached, and if he didn’t put her down soon she was going to pee on him.

But she didn’t have to worry, because before she tell him, he wrapped his hands around her waist and, without warning, threw her backwards into the water.

Her scream was silenced at the water engulfed her. It was so cold it stole her breath as she quickly sank to the bottom and pushed herself back to the surface, coughing and spluttering and glaring daggers at the idiot responsible.

“You absolute…arse!” She growled dragging her hand through the water and soaking him a shower of spray.

He snorted a laugh, and his smile was so big and bright that she couldn’t keep charade and she burst into laughter again before throwing herself at him.

“You’re a dead man walking, Jamie Fraser.” She giggled as he caught her, and lifted her up against him. She quickly wrapped her legs tight around his waist, taking her own weight, trying to ease some of the pressure off his arm. “It’s a good job I love you.”

“Aye, likewise, Sassenach.”

“I’m sorry for teasing you.”

“I’m no.” He smiled bruising her sodden hair off her face, “I wouldna have ye any other way.”

His kiss, that started off soft and gentle, quickly escalated, and before she knew it, her hands were locked in his hair, his hands were on her arse, and together they were grinding her aching centre against his stomach.

“Where’s the soap?” She panted, as she pulled back from him and looked frantically around the water. Lost in a haze of lust, Jamie blinked at her utterly confused and almost crippled with need. She was driving him to the outer edges of madness and, with her practically naked in his arms, he cared not a wit for the bastard soap.

“The soap?”

She’d teased him mercilessly, stripping down to her wee thingies, wiggling her plump arse in the air, and grinding it against his cock. Christ, even now her nippled were poking through the dark blue lace that just covered her breasts, and his mouth watered at the sight.

If she was his wife, she’d have suffered more than a slap on the arse, and he doubted she’d have been laughing quite so much then!

“Yes. I must have dropped it.” She huffed, unwinding her legs from around his waist. He hissed out a curse, near weeping in pain, as she slid her body down his, brushing against his aching cock. If she noticed, she made no acknowledgment of it, as she stumbled over the rocks, walking back towards the shore.

But as he watched her go he knew he’d suffer any amount of pain to have her by his side. He’d never known a lass like her, and he doubted he ever would again: save if they were blessed with daughters. Her previous life had moulded her into a woman unique for this time.

She had a humor that was easy and joyous. One that promised a marriage of fun and laughter. Something he’d never witnessed between a man and his wife. Her passion and desire burned as bright as his own, and the way she touched him and looked upon him with such reverence, had him longing to take her, to make her his.

But with the longing came dread. He didn’t want her to fear him. He didn’t want that look in her eyes to change, to become haunted and afraid, as it was bound too, when he plumbed her depths and took his pleasure.

She said she wanted him, craved him, but she was a virgin still. She didn’t yet know the horrors that the act could bring her. But he did, he’d seen it in the eyes of his wife, felt it in the stiffness of her body, and he’d loathed himself for it.

“Found it!” She cheered from the edge of the stream, snapping him out of his maudlin thoughts, as she waved the bar of soap in the air and splashed her way back towards him.

She was a vision in blue. The lace had tuned almost black in the water and it made her irony skin glow in the sun light. She was pure perfection. So wee and slender, with voluptuous curves at her hips, arse and breasts. Her long curly hair fell almost to her waist and the dark wet tresses framed her beautiful, delicate face.

_Yer a lucky bastard Jamie Fraser._

“I dropped it at the shore line, thank God.” She smiled as she placed her free hand on his chest and came up on her tiptoes to press her smiling lips to his. “Now it’s ladies first, so turn around and don’t peak.”

“I dinna think so, Sassenach.” He smirked stepping back and crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ve seen me naked, an’ fairs fair.”

“Oh really?”

“Aye.” He smiled as she raised an eyebrow and bit down on her plump bottom lip.”

“Fine, if you insist.” She shrugged and handed him the bar of soap before twisting both arms behind her back. For a moment he wondered what she was doing, but then the lace that cover her breast fell loose and he quickly turned his back and covered his eyes with his hand.

“I was in jest!” He squeaked as her tinkering laughter echoed through the air, and he felt the slap of wet lace land over his shoulder.

“Maybe, but it got you to look away.”

“Ye’r a wee minx, Sassenach. I’ll have fun puttin’ ye in ye place.” He warned as she pressed her naked chest against his back and reached around him for the soap.

“I look forward to it.”

“Aye, I’v no doubt.”

She laughed again and backed away, but the damage had already been done. The cock-stand that had gradually eased with his morose thoughts, was back with full force, and he had to clench his teeth to resist the urge to take himself in hand.

It was sinful to waist his seed so, but with a life of abstinence and a wife that feared his touch, he’d been left with no choice other than to ease his own ache.

And lord how he ached!

He could hear her splashing around behind him as she washed, and the temptation to turn around, to look upon her full breast was almost unbearable. He longed to grab her to him, to worship them with his tongue and teeth, to plunge inside her and ease the madness.

He was a man possessed and she was the keeper of his soul.

The gentle touch of her fingers on his back sent a shiver down his spine and he groaned almost silently with pleasure. He could feel the slickness of the soap on her hands as she worked them over the tight skin, soothing it and kneading his aching muscles.

“Is this okay?” She whispered moving from his shoulders down to his waist and back up, over and over again. He’d never felt anything so relaxing, so arousing, and he nodded and let his head fall forward in surrender.

“Aye.”

“Does it still cause you pain?”

He shook his head, and took a deep breath. His scars were a physical symbol of the emotional pain he’d suffered, and he’d kept them both hidden from the world until her, until Claire. But like with his emotional pain, her touch on his back soothed the ache, made it bearable and naught to be ashamed of.

“No anymore.” He breathed honestly.

“Good.” He felt the pressure of her lips against his skin, and it was followed by the length of her body, as she brought the soap around to his chest and continued her tender care.

He looked down, watching her wee hands as they worked the soap into his skin, marvelling at the act and the thought behind it. The soft scent of roses wafted up and he smiled remembering Murtagh’s face as he went through each bar in the wee shop in Cransmere. He’d been searching for the one closest to the wee bottles he’d thrown in the ravine, and the one she used now was the one he’d finally chosen and left in her room.

She removed her hands from his chest and rolled the soap over and over in her hands, lathering them up, before dropping the bar into the water. Jamie grab it before it could float away, then almost dropped it again as she dipped her hands beneath the water and wrapped them around his cock.

“Claire…” he stuttered, reaching for her hands to stop her, as she slid them up his length, around the head, and back down again, gently taking the foreskin with her.

“Ssh.” She whispered, trailing kisses along his back, and increasing her movements under the water. “Don’t drop the soap, we still need it.”

His eyes almost rolled into the back of his head as her grip tightened around him. She pumped him hard yet gently, fast yet slow, twisting her hand each time she came back up to the tip. He’d already been close to the edge and he was in danger of falling over very, very quickly.

He’d never felt pleasure like it, and although he knew he should stop her, he lacked the strength and the will, consumed as he was by the desire she wove. His blood rushed through his veins, deafening him with each thunderous beat of his heart, and he feared his knees wouldn’t hold him much longer.

As the fire burned brighter in the pit of his stomach, threatening to consume him, he dropped the soap and tuned in her arms.

“I’ll buy ye more.” He growled as he grabbed her arse and pulled her body against his. He captured her lips in a deep, passionate embrace, plundering her mouth with his tongue as he wished to do her body.

She raised a hand to his hair as she melted against him, compliant in his arms, but she didn’t stop her maddening caress of his cock. She simply worked him harder, pumped him faster as he groaned into her mouth and bruised her hips with his hands.

“Claire.” He panted, fighting for breath as he dropped his head to her shoulder. His balls were tightening painfully, drawing the heat from the base of his spine, spreading it to his stomach and out through his skin. He was on fire and set to fall apart in her arms.

“Come for me, Jamie.” She whispered fanning the flames and sending him careening into the abyss. His hips jerked against her, and he cried her name as his seed spilled out of him in a wave of pure bliss. It coated her hand and stomach and in a moment of mad possession his teeth sank in to the soft skin of her neck. “Oh God.”

Her hand tightened in his hair and she pull him up and slammed her lips against his. The low moan in her throat, had him shuddering with the aftermath of his release, and he lifted her against him, and thrust his cock against her core.

“Yes, please, Jamie, touch me.” She begged as he lifted her higher and trailed his lips around the tip of her breast. He knew from their time in her room, that she could feel the same release that he had, but having no idea how, he reach for her hand and wrapped it around his.

“Show me.” He pleaded meeting her dark hooded eyes, “Show how to please ye.” She nodded and biting her lip, she dropped her head to his shoulder and guided his hand between them, under the thin layer of lace that separated them.

She was hot, slick and swollen. He’d never felt anything like it, and his cock twitched in envy of his hand.

“Ye as slippery as an eel.” He groaned as she slid his fingers to her opening and then back up to a small nub at the top of her sex. She jerked against him and her breath hitched in a way he remembered well. “There?”

“Yes.” She panted rolling her hips and leading his fingers in a slow circle. “There, gently and inside…oh God.”

She removed her hand, bringing it back up into his hair, and holding tight as he touched her gently, marveling at the feel of her, as his fingers circled the small bump. Her hips were moving in tandem with his hand and desperate to know, he moved it lower and carefully eased a finger inside her.

“Lord, God ye so tight.” He breathed, kissing along her neck, up to her ear, and around her jaw, searching for her lips. Just the thought of feeling her tight, wet, sex around his cock had a fresh wave of heat rippling beneath his skin.

Jesus God he wanted her.

“Please, Jamie. Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” She begged, surrendering her mouth to him, as she ground down against the heel of his hand.

His tongue touched hers and they danced together, mimicking the movement of his finger deep inside her body. It was heaven and hell, touching her like this. It was more than he’d ever hopped for, yet nowhere near enough. His spent cock was already stirring to life against her arse, and he tried desperately to remember if they would pass a kirk on the way to Lallybroch.

He wasn’t sure how long he could wait to make his his wife.

Her inner muscles fluttered around his finger and he almost pulled it free, worried that he’d hurt her. But her movements increased, and she tightened her legs around him, and clasped his finger so tightly within her that he couldn’t remove it if he tired.

“Fuck, Jamie, yes!” She cried, breaking the kiss and arching her body back in his arms. He was completely spellbound, rendered speechless by the sheer beauty of her, as she lost herself to her pleasure and fell apart in his arms.

“Ah, Claire.” He whispered, drawing her back to him, holding her up as she fell limp, and her muscles spasmed around his finger. “Ye, slay me, lass.”

She laughed weakly as she nuzzled her face in his neck and tried to catch her breath. Slipping his finger from within her, he brought both arms around her and held her close. Thanking the lord for the privileged of having her there.

“I love, ye, Sassenach. More than my own life.” He breathed resting his cheek against her hair.

“I love you, too. To the moon and back, Jamie Fraser.”

He laughed lightly and tightening his hold, he dipped them down into the water and finally rinsed away the soap.


	16. Chapter 16

Claire gnawed at her lip, her eyes flicking from Jamie to Brian and back again. She knew she had to do it. Hell, she _wanted_ to do it. It was her job, and if she didn’t try to help and something happened to him, she’d never forgive herself. But still, he was a Duke and his mere presence intimidated the hell out of her.

“Where’s the brash lassie that molested me down by the stream?” Jamie teased blinking at her owlishly as he unstrapped their belongings from Brimstone saddle, and set them at his feet.

“I hardly molested you.” She huffed, twisting her hands as she looked up at him, trying to stop them from shaking. “It seemed to me that you were a willing participant.”

“Aye, verra willin’.” He growled rakishly, wiggling his eyebrows as he slowly looked her over, letting his eyes linger on the high mounds of her breasts. A blush flamed to life on her cheeks, and he burst out laughing, and shook his head. “Now ye blush.”

“Shush!” She hissed casting a wary eye to the men. His laughter had caught their attention and, for the first time, she felt shy. Like their activities were stamped across their foreheads, and she wanted to creep behind him and hide in his coat.

At some point after she and Jamie had snuck off, just before dawn, the men had continued on their journey towards Lallybroch. Or in the case of Brian and his party, on to Fort William to deliver Randell. They’d caught up with them not ten minutes ago, and other then a brief nod from Murtagh there’d been no acknowledgement of their arrival.

Until now.

“He willna bite ye, Sassenach.” Jamie reassured her, touching her hand discreetly with his. She wanted to be back in his arms, to use his strength to bolster her own, but any intimacy that they’d been afforded was over now.

It was bad enough that they’d been gone for so long, but openly displaying their affections now, without being married, would completely destroy what reputation she still had. She just hoped that Brian had given a plausible reason for their absence. If she was ruined she doubted Jamie would be allowed to marry her at all.

They had to be careful, and _she_ had to remember her place, and the time she was in. She’d lost all sense of it when they’d been alone and it couldn’t happen again.

No matter how much she wanted it to.

“Unlike you.” She whispered touching the small bruise at the junction of her neck. Luckily she’d packed a tucker in her bag, and it just about covered the mark.

“Aye, an’ I’ll no say I’m sorry.”

“Mmm.” She looked to Brian again and took a breath, “I’m reluctant to give him anything without examining him first, and if he was coming with us to Lallybroch I’d wait, but…” she sighed and looked back up at Jamie, “I don’t want to risk waiting either.”

“He’s no an unreasonable man. He’s firm, aye, an’ down right terrifyin’ when he wants to be. My arse can attest to that. But ye earned his respect yesterday, an he’ll listen to ye.”

“I’m not sure whether that’s helpful or not.” She laughed shakily, squaring her shoulders. “Once more unto to breach.”

Jamie had offered to speak to him himself, but she couldn’t, and wouldn’t, rely on him to path the way for her to talk to potential patients. So Duke or not, she had to pull up her big girl knickers and get it over with.

It was just her luck that Brian was once again talking to Murtagh when she approached, fingers clasped around the Willow bark in her pocket. She’d spotted it on their journey back from the stream and, as she dropped the others she’d collected in her mad rush to get to Jamie, she’d asked him to stop and cut some away for her.

Unlike yesterday, when she’d been fuelled by her need to protect his son, she daren’t interrupt Brian’s conversation. As a Duke and her a commoner, it was for him to acknowledge her not the other way around. So, she stood to the side, just in his line of sight and waited.

Murtagh spotted her first and his lips twitched as he nodded to her, alerting Brian to her presence. The huge warrior turned to face her, and she had to steel herself, least she step back and show her fear.

“Ah, Mistress Beauchamp. I trust ye found what ye were searching for?” He smiled, bowing politely and accepting her curtsy with a brief nod.

“I did, Your Grace, thank you.” She nodded back, catching his double meaning and accepting the excuse he’d given them. “And thank you for sending Lord Lorne to accompany me. I’d have found myself quite lost without his guidance.”

“I’m sure.” He laughed lightly. “I see ye’v rendered him immobile again.” She glanced over her shoulder at Jamie, and smiled. He was stood with Donas, one arm strapped to his chest, as he whispered softly to the horse and checked his wounds. All the while watching them as discreetly as he could.

“Much to his displeasure.” She laughed turning back to face Brian. “He’s not the most compliant patient I’ve ever worked with.”

“No, I imagine he’s no.”

“Although I have had worse.” She smiled, pulling her hand from her pockets and wringing together. He was being more approachable then she’d anticipated, but the butterflies in her stomach weren’t letting up. She needed to get on with it before she lost her nerve and ran back to Jamie like a coward. “If it’s not inconvenient, Your Grace, I was wondering if I might speak with you?”

“Aye.” He nodded, “I was of a mind to speak with ye as well. Murtagh, see it done.”

“Aye.” Murtagh accented before turning to her, “Mistress.”

“Murtagh.”

His lips twitched again, and she had to bite her own to stop a laugh, as he spun, kilt swishing in the breeze, and walked away from them to complete whatever task Brian had given him. Sobering, she tuned back to face the duke, and rested her fingers on the arm he held out for her to take.

“What can I help ye with, lass?” He asked as he guided them down a path, still out in the open, but away from the men.

_Here goes nothing!_

“At the risk of being impertinent, Jamie…Lord Lorne,” she corrected quickly. “Well he mentioned a few days ago, expressed his worry really, that you’d shown signs of suffering with pains in your chest.”

“Did he now?” He grouched, startling her as the muscles in his arm flexing beneath her fingers. “The damn lad needs to mind his own business.”

“He’s just worried about you.”

“Well he shouldna be. An’ he shouldna be discussing it with ye.”

She sighed quietly and pursed her lips. It was so tempting to just say _okay_ and to run in the opposite direction as fast as she could. He scared her half to death, but leaving it now would do nothing to help either of them. She’d already made her decision to try and help, so she had to say committed to it.

She stopped walking, forcing him to stop too and turn toward her. It was clear where Jamie got his stubbornness from, and nervous or not, she’d be damned if she let it kill him.

“Maybe you’re right.” She agreed gently looking up into his stern blue eyes. “But it wasn’t meant maliciously. He’s lost so much already and you and Lady Janet are the only family he has left, so of course he’s worried. You know I’m a healer and I’m good at what I do. So if he’s right, then please, let me help?”

He sighed and scrubbed at his face, much liked she’d seen Jamie do when he was stressed. It made her smile, and she almost laughed outright when he rolled his eyes and turned to walk again.

It almost made him seem human.

“So, he told ye then? Of Annalise and the bairns?” He asked quietly as she fell into step beside him again.

“Yes.”

He fell silent then, and so did she, leaving him to his thoughts in hopes that he would come to the right decision. She couldn’t force him to accept her help, but she’d be damned if she went down without a fight.

“Where’s ye family from, lass?” He asked as they reached the edge of the loch. He motioned for her to take a seat on a fallen log and sat beside her as she settled herself. In her quest to convince him to accept her help, she’d all but forgotten that he wanted to speak to her too and her stomach dropped like a stone.

_Well shit!_

Why hadn’t they anticipated this?

“Oxfordshire. My father was a tutor at the university.” She answered honestly. She couldn’t tell him the truth, not without Jamie here anyway, but she wouldn’t lie to him where it could be avoided.

“Was?”

“Yes. My parents were killed in an accident when I was five. I was raised by my fathers brother Lambert Beauchamp. He was an archeologist and we travelled the world looking for artefacts.” She explained quietly. “That’s where my love of healing comes from, I spent a lot of time immersed within different cultures. I learnt a lot of what I know from them.”

He sighed quietly and turned to look out over the water. Her heart was pounding in her chest, dreading the question that would eventually trip her up. Or the more concerning possibility that he would tell her to stay away from his son, that she wasn’t good enough.

“I wasna raised for the life I have now,” He said suddenly, surprising her with the turn in conversation, “and despite the pain of losin’ Jamie’s mother, I was happy with our life at Lallybroch. As Lord Lovat’s eldest son, I would’v eventually become clan Chief, but with the legacy he left, that was tenuous at best, an’ I wasna eager for it.” He laughed disgustedly, sparking a memory of what Joe had told her of Simon “the fox” Fraser.

He was a bit of a bastard if she remembered correctly.

“My mother though, was Lady Margaret Campbell, daughter of the first Duke of Argyll. Her grandsire, the ninth Earl, had been stripped of his title an’ hung for treason. It was only her fathers loyalty to the crown, an’ his support of William an’ Mary, that awarded him the estates an’ his ascension to the Duchy.

“Subsequently, he was the first Campbell to hold the title. So when his sons, the second Duke and his brother, died of the smallpox with no heirs of their own, they looked to his daughter. Ordinarily the title would revert to her uncle, but as he wasna a descendent of the first Duke an’ he held no claim.

“Though my mother still lived, she couldna inherit, bein’ a woman. But her son could, an’ as the last direct male descendent of the Duke, the title came to me.”

He looked at her then, and smiled slightly as he reached over and patted her arm. She had no idea what to say, no idea where he was going with his story, so she simply smiled back and tried to quell the queasiness in her stomach.

At least it explained some of how history had changed. A simple pox out break had obviously been enough.

In part at least.

“I wasna a Duke when the lad marrit Annalise, but even then, had I kent anythin’ about it, I would of put a stop to it, bairn or no. I’v no wish to speak ill of the dead, but she wasna a pleasant person and she made him miserable.”

“I know.” She agreed quietly, “He insinuated as much.”

“Aye, he’s too kind hearted to say it out right. But I’m no, an’ I’ll tell ye. She was a greedy, selfish bitch.” He growled, voicing the sentiments that Claire herself longed to, but wouldn’t dare for fear of hurting Jamie.

“I feared as much.”

“Ye right to. He wasna the same man when he returned from France, an’ he only got worse as the years went on. She almost destroyed him, an’ I’v seen no life in his eyes until I saw him look up at ye at the side of the road.

“I willna deny that he’s headin’ for a hard life. Bein’ a Scottish Duke is no easy task. It’s fraught with its own dangers, an’ the political waters are deep an’ murky. Neither will I deny that him havin’ an English wife will be a boon. He’s already got the support of the clans, an’ an English wife will see him well in London.

“I’v consider it before, ye ken, linkin’ him to the daughter of an English peer. But I couldna do it to him. I’v seen him at his lowest, an’ I’ll no do that to the lad again, I didna raise him to suffer a political marriage, so I’ll no force him to one. All I really care about is him being happy. So I’ll ask ye once, an’ ye’ll answer me true. Then I’ll surrender myself to ye care, agreed?”

“Agreed.” She told him resolutely, despite having no idea what he wanted from her.

“I ken that ye strong, lass. Puttin’ me in my place as ye did took courage.” He laughed, winking at her as a blush flamed on her cheeks. “An’ I ken ye did it for the lad. That ye care for him is obvious. But do ye love him? Do ye love him enough to put him first above all that comes with him? To support him in what he’s to inherit, an to stand by his decisions?”

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. She was stunned. What was supposed to be a conversation about his health, had turned into him practically giving her his blessing. She’d be stupid to do anything to jeopardise that, but he’d asked for the truth, and she wouldn’t shame herself by lying to him.

“The easy answer is yes.” She responded, opening her eyes and turning to face him. “I love him, more than I thought it was possible to love anyone. I didn’t know _what_ he was until we went searching for Donas, but I knew _who_ he was, and I’d have married him then in a heartbeat.

“I don’t know the first thing about being a peers wife, but you’ve asked for honesty and I’ll give it to you. Jamie’s only human, and I’ve no doubt that over the years he’ll make mistakes and stupid decisions. And while the world will see a supportive wife, you can bet your arse I’ll tell him in private if I think he’s being a fool. So, yes I love him, and yes I’ll support him, but there’s no way I’ll stand by his decisions if he’s being an idiot.”

“Ah, lass.” Brian laughed, placing a fatherly arm around her shoulder and pulling her in for a hug. It was so unexpected that she wasn’t prepared and she almost fell against him. “I kent there was a reason I liked ye. Just like his mam, ye are. God rest her soul. She’d have liked ye too. Had fire in her belly to match her hair that one.”

Claire laughed, part in humour but mainly in relief as she righted herself and gave him a small hug in return.

“That’s where he gets his hair from.”

“Oh aye. An’ his temper.” He laughed as Claire raised a dubious eyebrow.

“I didn’t realise he had one.” And if she did, she’d have presumed he’d gotten it from Brian. But she wouldn’t tell him that.

“Then ye in for a treat, lass. Now, about this pain…”

“I dinna ken the fancy soap was for _ye_.” Murtagh murmured, sneaking up behind Jamie and scaring the living daylights out of him. He was normally aware of every slight sound around him, but he’d been so lost in watching his da an’ Claire that he hadn’t heard a thing.

“It wasna.”

“Then why do ye smell like a tarts boudoir?” He demanded as he sat down beside him before the fire, “Ye gone for hours with the lass, an ye both come back clean and smelling of roses. Did ye bed her?”

“Nay.” Jamie growled back under his breath, “no that it’s any of ye concern.”

“em>Ye’r my concern.” He snapped back, “an by extension, so is the lass. Ye finally found one that’s worthy of ye, an’ I’ll no let ye ruin it by bein’ hasty. Ye ken there’s plenty who’s set there eye on ye, lad. They’ll no take kindly to ye wee Sassenach stealing ye from under their noses. If ye ruin her, they’ll have it known.”

Guilt stabbed at his heart. It had been a close thing, there in the water, when they’d forgotten themselves completely. If she’d not kept on her wee lacy knickers, as she’d called them, he may be singing a different tune, an rushing her to the Kirk.

“Aye, I ken.”

“Then keep ye cock in ye kilt until ye’v marrit the lass. An’ for god sake, stay clear of the men while ye smell like a flower garden.” He tossed a bar of soap in the air and Jamie caught it swiftly and brought it up to his nose.

It had a strong masculine smell, and he sighed and gestured to his arm.

“T’is more than my life’s worth to take it off.”

“Then ye best ask Claire to do it. Cause I could smell ye clear across camp.” Murtagh laughed, patting his knee as he stood, “I’ll be back with food.”

Jamie’s sighed and looked up to where his da had Claire wrapped in his arms by the loch. He jumped up, worried that he’d upset her, but then he saw her laugh, and his lips quirked up in response.

She had the old bastard wrapped around her finger already, as he knew she would, and he shook his head and slowly made his way towards them. Careful to avoid walking to close to the groups of men scattered around.

“…every other day.” He heard her instruct as she handed the willow bark to his father. “I don’t want you to take it too often before I’ve had a chance to examine you properly, but hopefully it will help.”

“I’d snap her up quick, son. I might just marry her myself.” His da laughed as he noticed him, turning his stomach. Claire laughed, and he narrowed his eyes as he walked behind her and stood as close as property allowed.

His arms itched to wrap around her waist, to pull her against his chest, and keep her there until she knew her place. But she was just as likely to castrate him, a she was to melt against him, and neither was a good thing under the circumstances.

“Then I’ll be duke before either of us anticipated.”

“Jamie!” Claire chastised, as she turned to look up at him. Her eyes were alive with suppressed humour and he ached to capture her parted lips with his.

_Beautiful._

“What?” He shrugged, wincing slightly from the movement and earning himself a glare. “The mans attemptin’ to abscond with my wife. What do ye expect me to do?”

“I don’t remember you asking me to marry you.” She smirk, raising an enticing eyebrow, and drawing an unexpected laugh from his father.

“A slight error on my part, I agree. One I’m sure I’ll see fit to rectify soon enough”

She burst out laughing and he reached for her hand and brought it to his lips and held it in a lingering kiss. It was innocent enough, so he didn’t really care if anyone saw them, least of all his beaming father. She smiled up at him, and he lost himself in her whiskey eyes, mourning their return to reality.

“See that ye do.” His da laughed, slapping him on the back. “Now, did ye want me, or ye wee lassie?”

“Both,” he sighed holding up the soap. Claire frowned down at it, and when he caught her eye he shook his head minutely. “I need to wash up, but I canna free my arm. I need ye to unbind me, Sassenach.”

“An' ye need me as chaperone.” His da surmised, nodding his head as he sat back on the log. “Aye, ye’v had ye leeway, an’ I’ll send on a note to Jenny and Ian. They can serve in my place until I get back.”

“I think Murtagh will be more than happy to take the office.” Jamie growled as Claire helped him out of his coat and started on the cuff of his shirt. He was attempting desperately to ignore what she was doing. He knew all too well how she felt against his naked body, and his cock had a mind of its own.

“Maybe, but he’s a bachelor himself. It wouldna do to start rumours.”

He spat a curse under his breath, bringing on a new round of laughter from Claire as she eased the shirt over his head. He’d thought maybe it would be the young lads on the farm he’d have to keep an eye on, but it seems that the two old coots were going to be his biggest problem. And he’d suffer no end to their teasing.

But at least his cock-stand had vanished.


	17. Chapter 17

It was another two days of long hard riding, unforgiving roads, stubborn animals and sleepless nights, before the road split and Brian and his men said fair well and departed for Fort William. In some ways she was sorry to see him go. The more she got to know him, the more she liked him, and she’d miss him. Even if it was only for a few days.

After he’d disposed of Black Jack, he was planning on returning to Lallybroch, to await the birth of Jenny’s baby. She could see that he was as nervous about it as Jamie, and she’d promised them both that she would do all she could to see her to a safe delivery.

What she wouldn’t miss was his near constant teasing of them both. He was taking his role as chaperone to the extreme and, between him and Murtagh, they’d not had two seconds alone in the last two days. Last night she’d half expected him to pull out an English etiquette book and a ruler to make sure they weren’t sitting too close by the fire. But instead Brain simply plonked him self down between them and drank his ale without a care in the world.

She wanted to scream, _we’re in the fucking highlands_ , who gives a shit! But she didn’t and she’d seen the first fraying edges of Jamie’s temper, when he launched his mug into the fire, and stormed off without a word.

They knew good and well that there was no-one here that would say a word about her reputation. The men were too loyal to the Fraser men to betray them like that. But he was having fun and claimed that _one wrong word to a wife or sister, an’ the whole of Broch Mordha will claim ye a fallen woman! I’m only doin’ my duty, lassie._

So here she was, on the last day of their journey, sore, tired, moody, and to top it all off, she’d started her period.

Of course, Joe being an imbecilic, stupid, godforsaken, idiot of a man, hadn’t thought to pack any towels or tampons. So, she was riding on a horse, with strips of a torn up vest top in her knickers, trying to hide her pain and embarrassment from Jamie and his merry men.

Surely she’d mentioned _that_ in her diary!

She loved her sweet, caring man dearly, she really, really did, and she’d missed their closeness the past few days. But if he asked her one more time if she was alright, she was going to lose her shit. She wasn’t alright, she was far from alright. She was miserable, self conscious and in pain. But while most twenty first century men knew that her being _fine_ meant _run for your life_ , poor Jamie didn’t have a clue, and one of them was bound to pay the price for it.

Or maybe he did.

And maybe it was her.

After his father left, rather than make the most of his absence, Jamie had ridden ahead with a small group to scout the road, leaving her under the watchful eyes of Murtagh and Willie. She missed him the moment he disappeared out of sight, and instantly cursed her shitty mood. It wasn’t his fault, and she felt like a bitch for taking it out on him. To make matters worse she needed to stop, again, just to check _things_ and she didn’t want to ask Murtagh, nor stop without Jamie in their current position.

_Bloody men!_

She huffed, unintentionally catching Willies attention, and almost groaned when he rode his mount closer to her.

“Are ye well, milady?” He asked sweetly, his boyhood charm lessoning the impact of his question. But she still had to remind herself not to try and wring his scrawny little neck.

“I’m fine, Willie.” She answered for the millionth time. “But you really shouldn’t call me that though.” She reminded him gently, despite the warmth the simple name brought her.

None of his men referred to Jamie as anything but Mac Dubh, unless Brian was around, then it was Milord this and Milord that. But since their return from the stream, most had been addressing her as Milady, and despite her protest she secretly loved it.

Especially when Jamie said it.

He’d still made no formal offer of marriage, but despite their new, strict adherence to property, forced though it was, he’d begun openly courting her. And it was the sweetest thing in the world. Her emotions got the better of her, and her skin erupted in goosebumps, just simply from remembering his small thoughtful gestures.

The way he kissed the back of her hand in greeting, and the palm as he left her. Always making sure to close her fingers around his kiss to keep it safe until his return. Or the way he shooed off the men to give her the first cut of meat, and a place closest to the fire. Or how he always found the most comfortable spot for her furs at night, and if there wasn’t one, he’d sneak one of his own beneath them for comfort.

Despite her protests.

God she missed him. He’d been gone less than a hour, but she felt like shit for having driven him away. He loved her, and he was worried about her, and she’d almost snapped his head off.

Now it was her turn to be worried about him.

“Milady?”

“Sorry, Willie. I was miles away, I missed what you said.” She apologised, shaking her head as she turned to look at him. But he simply smiled, and waved her away.

“Ah, dinna fash. I was only sayin’ that we’ll have to soon enough. Might as well get used to it.”

“Don’t jinx it.” She laughed lightly, although she was completely serious. She wasn’t really superstitious, but after everything that had happened, she wanted to cover all her bases. “How much longer do you think they’ll be?” She asked, casting her eyes around the dim forest.

They’d left the open road some time ago, to enter the woods and the mountain pass within them. So the view was limited, which was the reason Jamie had left to scout in the first place. They still rode with the Argyll banner and it offered them some protection, but it had its pit falls as well as its advantages.

It would announce to any redcoat patrols that they were friend not foe, and discourage them from attacking. But it would have the adverse effect on bandits, or the notorious watch, so the men were on high alert for raids or ambushes. It made her nervous, and she was worried for Jamie. His still only had the use of one arm, and he wouldn’t be able to fight well if it came down to it.

“I dinna ken.” Willie shrugged. “They’ll want to check through the pass, an’ then they’ll circle back to make sure we’re not bein’ followed.”

She glanced behind her, looking for any sign of him, but seeing no hint of his bright red hair in the caravan of men, she sigh and tuned back to Willie.

“Do you live close to Lallybroch?” She asked, needing a distraction. The cramps in her stomach were getting worse, and she wanted to try and take her mind of them, and her wayward…what? Boyfriend? Lover? Beau?

“Aye. My da’s a tenant. He’s been farming the land there since His Grace took control. That’s over thirty years. He helped him build the original house.”

“The original house?”

“Aye. The new manor was built around the old one.” He told her excitedly, almost bouncing in his seat. “T’was only finished this spring, an’ t’is grand, ye ken. I’v no been inside but my aunt, Mrs Bissett, she’s the house keeper, she said t’is like a palace.”

“Really?” She asked, trying to keep the scepticism out of her voice. Despite their newly inherited titles, neither Jamie or Brian struck her as the type of men to flaunt their position.

“Aye.”

She sighed. Jamie had told her that he still worked the farm and while she knew that was unusual for landed gentry or a peer, it really didn’t surprise her. It was simply the man he was. She was sure he'd go stir crazy as a man of leisure. He wasn’t born for it. He was a Scottish highlander through and through, and she knew he’d work night and day until he was forced to take over the Dukedom.

Besides, Willie had lived his whole life here in the highlands. Her idea of a palace and his were probably vastly different. At least she hoped they were.

She’d tried her hardest not to think about it, because it was too ridiculous to wrap her mind around. But the truth was that if and when Jamie did ask her to marry him, she would be talking on more than just a husband. Some day, hopefully in the very distant future, she would become the Duchess of Argyll.

It made no sense. How could she, little old Claire Beauchamp from here, there and everywhere, be destined to become a fucking Duchess?

Just over a month ago, she’d been sitting in her cramped studio apartment, in twenty first century Oxfordshire, cramming for her final medical exams. Christ, after five years of bone wary, soul draining, thankless hours of studying and on the job training, she didn’t even know if she’d passed.

Yet here she was now, in eighteenth century Scotland, claiming to be the doctor she didn’t know if she was. Ready to marry a man she’d known for a grand total of _ten_ days and loved beyond her imaginings.

And facing the life of a Duchess.

It was no wonder she couldn’t make head nor tails of it, and she was clinging to the hope that Jamie’s idea of a farm and hers coincided perfectly.

They’d travelled for another half an hour or so and there was still no sign of Jamie. Bordering on desperate, she’d just decided to ask Murtagh to stop at the other side of the mountain pass, when her blood ran cold. She stopped Brimstone so quickly that she startled and reared, almost toppling Claire off.

The vast walls of the mountain sides rose up on either side of a narrow path. At it’s mouth stood the group of men that Jamie had ridden off with, and at it centre stood the man who held her heart. It was the dagger at his throat, and the redcoat who held it, that stopped it completely.

“Murtagh.” She choked, looking around her frantically, as she tried to bring Brimstone under control. He was already beside her, and he reached for the reigns, and quickly brought the horse to heal.

“Easy, lass.”

“Easy?” She hissed desperate to call out to Jamie but terrified of the consequences. “He’s got a fucking knife at his throat! _Don’t_ tell me to be easy!”

“Ach.” One of Jamie’s men called as he casually left the group and walked towards them. She searched her memory for his name, but it was lost in her panic, and she really didn’t give a shit right now.

_Shouldn’t he be doing something?_

“Dinna fash, Milady. They’ve been at it for the last twenty minutes. To be fair, t’is the first time the lobster backs had the upper hand. Even one armed, Mac Dubh’s no making it easy on him.” He shrugged as he came to stand beside them. “T’will be over soon.”

“Have you lost your ever loving mind?” She growled as she jumped down intending to do something if they wouldn’t. “Help him!”

“He’d skin me alive.”

“Claire, he’s fine.” Murtagh laughed, dismounting himself and moving towards her. But she ignored him and pushed her way through the crowd of redcoats and highlanders, pulling out the dagger Jamie had gifted her.

Strong hands clasped around her upper arm, and she struggled against them uselessly, trying to get away.

“If ye mark her, I’ll cut ye bollocks off!” Jamie warned as he grabbed the redcoat and flung him over his shoulder. He landed with a thud, all the air knocked out of him, and while half of the group hissed, the other cheered.

The grip around her arms had slowly loosened at Jamie’s threat. But she stood stock still, watching as Jamie brushed the hair out of his eyes, and offered a hand to the fallen redcoat.

_What the fuck?_

“Ye getting’ slow in ye old age.” He laughed patting the younger man on the shoulder as he dusted the mud off his uniform.

“It is your years of experience no doubt. I am sure by the time I reach your grand old age of six and twenty, I will be able to thrash you in my sleep.” The redcoat threatened, his well spoken English betraying his affluent upbringing.

“Ye believe that if it makes ye feel better.”

Despite still being somewhat shaken, he fell into step beside Jamie and she watched in a daze as they walked towards her. Her eyes flitted from one man to the next until they came to rest on the redcoat as he eyed her with confusion. She couldn’t really blame him, she was a lone woman with a bunch of rag-tag highlanders. But she held the monopoly on sheer incredulity. She had no idea what the hell was going on.

Her heart was pounding erratically, and she could barely stand as Jamie stopped before her. He smiled and reached out to take the dagger from between her shaking fingers.

“Easy, Sassenach.” He laughed, as he raised her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. “Let me introduce ye to my good friend Lord John Grey. Lord John, Mistress Claire Beauchamp…my…my intended.”

Claire raised an eyebrow as she stared into the bright, wary, blue eyes of her Viking warrior. For someone who had been fighting for the last twenty minutes there wasn’t a hair out of place and he wasn’t winded at all. She wanted to rail at him for scaring the shit out of her, but she wouldn’t in company, and she was too surprised by his introduction.

She hadn’t missed his hesitation either.

Jamie’s smirked and she took a deep breath and turned back to face his friend.

“My Lord.” She curtsied politely. His eyes widened, no doubt at her accent, and he bowed to her, but it was almost an after through. All of the colour had drained from his face, and he looked almost sick to the stomach at having to address her.

“Mistress Beauchamp, it is a pleasure.” He lied as his eyes darted from her, to Jamie, to the hand that was still wrapped around hers. “I hadn’t heard you were to marry again, Jamie.”

“Nay ye willna have…t’is recent an’ we’ve no announced the banns yet.”

_Nor have you actually asked yet._

“Then I wish you congratulations.” He nearly whispered, his eyes locked on Jamie’s.

“Thank ye. It means a lot.”

She was still lost in a haze of shock and confusion as she watched their exchange. But it was clear that there was more being said than what she and the men could hear, and it took her a moment to read the subtle undertones.

There was a question and an answering apology. But it was the longing and devastation apparent in Greys eyes that had Claire’s breath catching in her throat. She felt such sudden, heartbreaking sympathy for the man, that any slight she’d felt at his obvious dislike towards her, melted away.

He was in love with Jamie.

She knew all too well how easy he was to love, and how devastating it was to feel as though that love was in vein. But while her heart had broken, she’d had the comfort of knowing that he loved her too. Lord John had no such comfort.

At least she hoped he didn’t.

“If you’ll excuse me?” She asked, looking from one man to the next as she eased her hand from Jamie’s grasp. She needed a moment to process what was happening, and she had a feeling they did too.

She almost felt like an intruder, and it made her feel slightly sick.

“Are ye well, Sassenach?” He asked, frowning down at her with the same look he’d given her all morning. After her fright, his question failed to irritate her, and she smiled weakly and nodded.

“Yes. I just need a moment now we’ve stopped. I’ll leave you gentlemen to it. It was a pleasure to meet you, Lord John.”

“Mistress Beauchamp.”

She curtsied again and just caught Jamie’s gesture for Murtagh to follow her. She wanted to cry. She was hoping that with so many people about, she’d be allowed a moments privacy. She needed to get some things out of her bag and she couldn’t do that with Murtagh watching over her shoulder.

Attempting to push down her embarrassment, she ignored Murtagh’s curious gaze, and quickly unstrapped her bag. If she couldn’t take out what she needed, she’d have to take the whole thing and just hope he didn’t question her.

“Dinna go too far, lass.” He warned as she turned off the path and walked into the trees.

“I’ll stay in yelling distance.” She promised clutching her bag in one hand and her stomach with the other.

Her mind felt as twisted as her uterus and after she’d righted herself, and buried the used rag, she sank down against a tree and hid her head in her hands.

That Jamie loved and desired her was perfect clear, and she didn’t doubt him for a moment. There was no way that anyone could fake the passion that burned between them. But she was a twenty first century girl, she understood the concept of bisexuality, and her stomach knotted at the thought.

Lord John had done a terrible job of hiding his feeling for Jamie. They were written on his face, as clear as day. It was Jamie’s guilt that confused her. Was it simply because he was aware of his friends feeling, and was sorry to have hurt him? Or was it because he shared those feelings but knew that they could never act on them? Or even that they _had_ acted on them, and he felt guilty for falling in love with her and betraying they relationship?

Homosexuality was illegal here, and she ached for the pain that the men and woman had to suffer. Having to hide who they were, and who they loved, was cruel and unjust. But she hated the thought of sharing Jamie’s love with _anyone_ man or woman, and pure unadulterated jealousy burned in her gut like acid.

Just like she imagined it did in Lord Johns.

If it was another woman that held his affection, though she’d still be envious, she’d always know that he’d chosen her. But where Lord John was concerned, he had no choice, not without the risk of being found out and hung for his _crimes._

So, would she be left to always wonder if she was second best? They were friends and there was no doubt that they’d spend time together. Yet each time they did, would she question what they were doing when she wasn’t around?

_Just ask him you fucking idiot!_

She huffed at herself, and snapped open her bag to take out two painkillers. Her head was aching as much as her stomach and with her exhaustion and bloody PMS she was close to tears.

And being complete irrational.

“Claire?”

“I’m coming.”

Her heart had slipped its usual beat at the sound of his voice, and at its call, she snapped her bag closed and pushed to her feet. Whether he loved Lord John or not, he was hers, and she was his.

He was waiting for her just at the edge of the tree line and when he saw her face, so drawn and lost, he threw property to the wind and pulled her into his arms.

“I’m begin’ ye, lass. Tell me what’s wrong.” He murmured, holding her against his chest. Leaning down he pressed his lips to her hair and held them there as she trembled in his arms. She’d bathed again this morning, before they’d started their journey, and the gentle scent of roses permeated his scenes.

“I…Lord John…” she whispered, burrowing closer as she let go of her bag and wrapped her arms around his waist. “He’s…”

“Aye, I ken.” He laughter lightly. “It dinna take ye long to notice.”

“He didn’t make much of an effort to hide it. It’s just…are…do you…”

“Lord, no!” He jumped in, shaking his head vigorously. How could she think for one minute that he’d ever even consider taking a man? Or being taken by one? He shuddered at the thought. It was one thing to know of, and begrudgingly understand, Johns affections, but to be a part of it was unthinkable. “What do ye take me for, lass? I’m no an arse bandit.”

“Jamie!” She chastised hotly, as she pulled back and frowned up at him. “Can you not be so…crass! There’s nothing wrong with being homosexual, or bisexual. I was only wondering if you and John…”

“He may be my friend, Sassenach, but the law says differently.”

“Now maybe, but not forever. Same sex marriages will be perfectly acceptable in the future.” He gaped down at her, made speechless once again by yet another realisation about the would she’d lived in.

“Marriage?”

“Yes. But I’m sorry I asked, it’s just, you looked so guilty when you introduced us, and it was clear that he’s in love with you.”

He sighed and pulled her close again, holding her head against his heart. He’d known for a long time about Johns feelings for him, and while they’d disgusted him at first, he’d come to accept that he’d never expected more than his friendship.

“Aye, he is. But he’s never attempted to foster his feelin's on me, and he ken’s well that I’d never reciprocate.” He whispered rocking her gently. “I canna help but feel sorry for it. But ye avoiding’ the question. Ye’v no been yerself all day, Sassenach, so dinna be using’ John as an excuse no to tell me.”

He felt her chest expand beneath his arm and she whispered something so quietly that he didn’t hear a word of it. He pulled back slightly and unwound his arm, so he could lift her chin. She was bright red and she refused to look him in the eye.

_What was she hiding?_

“Claire? Tell me!”

“Oh for Gods sake!” She huffed stepping back and wrapping her arms around her waist. “I started my…courses this morning. I feel icky, uncomfortable, and in pain. There, are you happy?”

He blinked at her as her word sunk in, but when they did he suddenly felt like an idiot, and had no idea what to do. Of course being married before he had a basic understand of a woman curse, but for him it had simply meant there was either a bairn on the way, or there wasn’t, and they stopped trying for a while.

They were always mentioned in abstract, something along the lines of _I’m not fit for company_ or _I’m with child_. He’d never been close enough with Annalise to know when, or how, she suffered with them, or really what they entailed.

“Why are ye in pain?” He eventually asked, focusing on his biggest concern as he took a step towards her. He didn’t like the thought of her hurting, and it worried him. 

What if there was something wrong?

“It always hurts for the first day or two.” She shrugged, allowing him to wrap his arm back around her. “But don’t worry, I’ll manage today. I’m not bleeding too much yet.”

“Yer bleedin’?” He gasped, pulling her back away from him and looking her over from head to toe. “Why? Where?” He couldn’t see any blood, but her dress was dark, he might have missed it. He tried to turned her around, to check her back as his heart pounded in panic, but she slapped his hand away.

“Of course I’m bleeding!” She huffed as though it was nothing, and his world wasn’t about to fall apart. “What do you expect?”

“No for ye to be bleedin’ an’ in pain! Show me.”

“What? No!”

“How can I help ye, if ye won’t let me?” He growled turning around to find her wee bag on the floor behind him. He bent to grab it, but she fell down to her knees before him and stilled his hand.

“Jamie.” She whispered, moving her hands up to cup his face. “There’s nothing wrong with me. It’s my courses. They come every month, and I bleed for five days, and then stop until the following month. The only time they stop completely is when a woman’s pregnant. It’s perfectly normal.”

_Five days?_

Who bleeds for five days and lives to tell about it?

“Aye, I ken that, I just dinna ken ye’d be bleedin’.” He sighed, falling on to his arse and pulling her down against him. “Are ye sure ye well?”

“I’m fine I promise. But, you were married. How do you not know?”

“Ye ken we werena close. I was either welcome in her rooms or I wasna. There was never a mention of them unless she was telling me about a bairn. T’is no a thing men talk about.” He explained his heart finally slowing as she nestled against him.

“Well you best get used to it. Because I’m likely to bitch and moan about it every twenty eight days.”


	18. Chapter 18

Unlike the gradual climb they made through the forest, and up to the pass, the path down the other side of the mountain was steep, and rugged. To spare the horses they’d dismounted a while ago, and now walked single file, trying to keep well clear of the near vertical drop that fell to their left.

Claire was sandwiched between Murtagh and Jamie, and she could almost feel the latter’s eyes scorching her skin. If she wasn’t terrified of missing a step and falling to her death, she’d be tempted to turn around and stare right back.

This was the first time she’d been out of touching distance since their strange, yet intimate conversation in the woods, and she knew it must be driving him crazy.

She’d been utterly flabbergasted at his apparent lack of knowledge where women were concerned. For a man who’d been married for four years it was astounding. But she supposed that it just proved what an abysmal marriage it had really been. Not that she’d needed proof, Jamie’s haunted words had been enough.

After she’d managed to somewhat reassure him by explaining the basics, the questions had started. He’d wanted to know _everything_ , and she’d spent almost half an hour attempting to satisfy his curiosity and ease his worry. Where his intelligent mind was concerned, she’d succeeded in quelling his thirst, but his worry was a different matter altogether.

If she’d ever thought that twenty first century men were ignorant and unsympathetic toward the utter ball ache and misery caused by PMS and periods, at least she couldn’t accuse her eighteenth century man of the same.

He was beside himself with concern for her, so much so that he’d have carried her back to her horse if she’d let him. Hell, he’d still be carrying her now if she hadn’t gently, but firmly, put her foot down and insisted she was fine. Regardless of her reassurance that it was perfectly normal, and that almost all women went though it, the thought of her bleeding and in pain horrified him.

He’d not let her out of his sight since, and he’d ridden so close that the horses had been in danger of tripping over each other.

It was ridiculous, sweet, frustrating and overwhelmingly adorable.

But God help them both when they have a child.

She smiled at the thought and allowed herself a brief moment to imagine it without the dread creeping in. She was excited at the prospect of carrying his child, of watching it grow and feeling it move inside her. But the fear of his reaction still lingered in the back of her mind.

She sighed and shook her head. It was a long way off, it wasn’t something she had to worry about now. So she stamped the thought down and turned her eyes to the beautiful view. Despite the terrifying drop off, the sight before her was awe inspiring. She could see for miles around, and it was a vision that she’d not soon forget.

Ben Nevis loomed large in the distance, and the landscape that formed its valley was lush and green. Fields of barley, hops and oats were boarded by moorland heather and deep blue lochs, creating a tapestry of colours that took her breath away.

Smoke rose gently from the chimneys of the small cottages that dotted the landscape, and she could just make out the first signs of life. The men working tirelessly in the fields, the woman tending to chores, and the children playing amongst the farm yard animals.

She was under no illusion that it was an easy life. She’d spent her childhood living amongst communities that lacked all modern conveniences. But it was simple, peaceful and perfect, and she felt the first real thrill of the life that awaited her here.

Because she knew without having to ask, that this was his home.

She scanned the horizon looking for any sign of a manor house, or the palace that Willie had threatened her with, but she could seen nothing but fields and cottages. Disappointed, she sighed, then startled as she felt Jamie’s large, warm hand wrap around hers.

She’d been so lost in thought, that she hadn’t realised that the path had opened up. But she was glad it had, it felt only right to get her first glimpse of his home with him by her side. She turned to smile up at him and twisted her hand to link their fingers together.

“It’s so beautiful.” She breathed in awe. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It is, I never tire of it. But ye canna see the house from here.” He smiled back, squeezing her fingers as he read her mind. “T’is just beyond the hook, nestled against the ben.”

“I can’t wait to see where you grew up. I’m sure your da will have a tale or two he’ll be happy to share when he arrives.” She teased, winking up at him, and smiling as she pictured the small red haired boy covered in short pants and mud. “A story’s always so much better with a visual.”

“Aye, I’v no doubt. But it isna the same house, so ye set for disappointment.”

“Ah, the _palace_.”

“The what?”

“Willie was attempting to put the fear of God into me I think.” She huffed, turning to glance back at the miscreant youth. He was back on his horse, yammering away to a frustrated looking Gordon, and she couldn’t help but smile. “He was waxing eloquent about the new house. Apparently Mrs Bissett told him it was a palace.”

Jamie snorted and shook his head causing a wayward curl to fall over his eye. She itched to reach up and brush it away, and she would have had she not been holding onto Brimstone reigns and Jamie’s hand.

“T’is no a palace, so dinna fash.”

“Thank God.” She sighed dramatically as she swung their hands between them. “Is there anything of the old house remaining?”

“Some of the rooms, aye. The old Broch Tuarach, too.”

“Broch Tuarach?”

“It means north facin’ tower.” He explained, his eyes almost wistful. “Before my da took on the Duchy he was the Laird Broch Tuarach.”

“You miss it don’t you? The simpler life.” She whispered, moving closer to rest her head on his arm.

“Aye, sometimes.” He sighed as he lent down and pressed his lips to her hair. “T’was harder in many ways, but thinking’ on it always makes me nostalgic for a time before Ann…before France.” He swallowed. “When I was naught but a lad, still wet behind the ears. I often wonder how my life would have been different.”

“It was your da that issued the pardon? When you were in Fort William?”

“Aye. So maybe I was destined to hang, or to live as an outlaw if he hadna inherited.”

“A dashing one no doubt.” She smiled lightly. “But you’re the man you are today because of the choices you made, and I happen to love that man dearly.”

“As I do ye, mo gràdhag.” He breathed, kissing her again. “Are ye well? Do ye need to rest awhile?”

“No, I’m okay.” She promised squeezing his hand again. How could she have ever been fed up with his asking? “How far away are we?”

“No but a mile. Yer can see Broch Mordha there in the distance.” He told her, raising their clasped hands to point to the small picturesque village. “We support about sixty tenants here in the valley, plus the village an’ the families that work the home farm an’ serve the house. T’is one good thing to come from the inheritance. Bein’ able to provide more jobs an’ a richer life for our people.

“We could purchase better farmin’ equipment. Plough lands that had been left to fallow through lack of hands. They’ve brought in far better yields, so we rotate now, and the estate more than pays for itself.”

The pride in his voice was unmistakeable and, as she looked up at him, her own heart swelled with feeling. She had been so wrong to assume that building a larger house would be a way to flaunt position. If they _had_ built a palace, it would be to provide jobs and as a symbol of security and prosperity to the tenants.

Every inhabited house they’d passed on their journey had been in good repair, and had clearly shown their care. The houses here in the valley were no exception. As they drew closer she could see that most had new roofs and windows, that the families were well dressed, and the animals healthy and plenty.

It was no wonder that they had the support of the clans. The Frasers, though originally a small clan, were benevolent, strong, and now large in number. That they had wisdom and a stubborn, fighting spirit to boot, made them strong and tenacious leaders.

“You never cease to impress me, Jamie Fraser.” She breathed as she turned to kiss his arm. “You’re an amazing man.”

He laughed self consciously and shrugged.

“I dinna ken about that, but ye missin’ the view.”

She looked up at him, and he nodded towards the road, drawing her attention away from him and to the breath taking sight before them. For a moment she felt just like Elizabeth Bennet, as she came over the rise, and saw Pemberley house for the first time. She was speechless, and she slowly lead Brimstone off the road, and stopped to try and take it all in.

Lallybroch was nothing and everything that she’d expected. Jamie was right, it’s wasn’t a palace. Well not if you took the likes of Versailles or Hampton Court as a bench mark. But it was palatial none the less.

The warm sandstone mansion was large and of varying heights. Three stories in some places, one or two in others. With a selection of small fairytale towers at it peak, and billowing chimneys that spoke of dancing fires and cosy hearths. It was framed at a distance by a high wall, with gardens rich with colour and overflowing with life.

It was beyond beautiful and, overcome with emotion, her whole body once again erupted with goosebumps.

“What do ye think?” Jamie asked as he moved in behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist. She lent back against him, and shrugged helplessly.

“ Jamie…it’s…just…” she had no words, and he laughed and pulled her closer, resting his chin on her head.

“Welcome home, Sassenach.”

After helping her back onto Brimstone, Jamie rode close beside her, high in his seat, surveying the land like a pure bread master home from battle. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight, this was a side of him she hadn’t really seen, but was eager to familiarise herself with. During their journey, he’d ceded control to Brian, as was right, and when they’d travelled to Leoch he’d been placating Dougals narcissism.

But here, now, he was his own man, and Laird of all that lay before him, and she’d be lying if she said that the sight didn’t turn her on. The only time she’d seen him lay down his authority was in the gorge, when he’d snapped at Mckimmy for grabbing her. If she hadn’t been so scared and confused at the time, she’d have most likely jumped him.

It was just so bloody _hot_!

She’d never been attracted to alpha males before, but she realised now that it was simply because she’d been surrounded by pretenders. Mostly doctors and surgeons at the hospital, with their over inflated, pretentious egos, and God like complexes.

But Jamie was the real deal. He didn’t need to puff himself up and parade around like he owned the world. It was his calm, quiet authority that people followed. His strength and protectiveness that drew them to him and gave them the confidence to trust in his leadership.

And it was his intelligent mind, and soft squishy centre that she’d fallen in love with.

Brimstone shifted suddenly beneath her, startling her from her thoughts, as she took off after Donas who was cantering across the fields. Claire gripped the reigns tighter in her hands, attempting to reign her in, but she’d seen the stables, and as eager for food and rest as any of them, there was no stopping her.

“Iffin!” Jamie cursed as he caught up to her and guided his mount close. “Ease up an’ give her her head.” He ordered sharply as he lent over to try to steady her. She was an experienced horse woman, but she’d never galloped riding side saddle, and she wasn’t ashamed to admit that she was scared. So, it took her a moment to rise up enough courage to loosen her hold, and relax. “Good, just relax, I’ll no let ye fall.”

“I’m okay.” She breathed shakily as she steadily let her body fall in-line with the horse. “I’m okay.”

“Aye, ye are. So breathe, lass.”

She took a deep breath and then another and another, as her heart rate lowered, and Brimstone slowed to a trot on the cobble stone path. It lead to the high arched entrance of the stable yard, and they passed through it where she stopped, butting up against Donas.

“What the devil’s got into her?” Murtagh growled as he rode in behind them and jumped down from his own mount.

“I dinna ken.” Jamie huffed jumping down himself and moving quickly towards her. “Are ye well, Sassenach?”

“Yes, I’m fine. She just surprised me, I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Nay, neither was I.” He sighed as he helped her dismount and quickly checked her over. “Yer no hurt?”

“No, I promise.” She smiled. She wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms and find her footing, but she couldn’t. They weren’t shielded by anonymity on the road anymore. He was home, surrounded by his men and the staff, and she was sure that public displays of affection were a big no no.

“I’m sorry, Sassenach. Donas takes his head when he sees home, but she’s no been here before. I didna ken she’d take off after him.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry.” She assured him as the stable yard filled with man and beast as the party dismounted and and turned to tend to their horses.

“Are ye alright, Milady?” Willie panted as he raced towards her, his eyes wide and bright. She winced at the name, conscious that the older stable hand, seeing to Jamie’s horse, was within hearing range. “She flew like the wind.”

“Yes, I know. But I’m fine, Willie I promise.”

“She in season?” Murtagh asked Jamie as he handed his own horse off and moved towards Brimstone.

“Maybe, but she’s too young to foal, she needs another year or two.”

“Then ye best steer her clear of that randy bastard.”

“Aye.” Jamie laughed as he squeezed her hand and moved toward Donas to rub at his nose. “My lad’s in the wars, Gordie, but just feed and water him and I’ll look in on him later.”

“Aye, Milord.”

“An that wee fillies’ a new purchase. She’s Mistress Beauchamps lass, Brimstone. So, take good care of her, aye.” He ordered surprising the shit out of Claire. She’d presumed that Brimstone was from the Leoch stables, she’d had no idea that Jamie had actually bought the horse for her.

But obviously he had, and it was before they’d come to any understanding, most likely in the three days they hadn’t spoken. Her eyes welled up, and she tried to blink away the tears as she looked up at him and smiled.

_Thank you_. She mouthed silently, earning her an owlish blink and a gently smile in return.

“She’s not normally so temperamental.” She promised Gordie as he side stepped a snorting Donas to move towards Brimstone. “Unlike my Lords capricious beast.”

“She’s a beauty to be sure, Mistress.” He nodded, as he ran a gentle hand down her flank, “ An’ she’s safe with me, so dinna fash, aye.”

“Thank you.” She nodded, keeping one eye on Jamie as he guided Donas away and into a stall. “Now you be a good girl, and no teasing poor Donas.” She whispered as she nuzzled her face against Brimstones and kissed her nose.

Gordie laughed and Murtagh snorted as he unstrapped her bags and placed them down at her feet.

“The same could be said to ye, lassie.” He murmured underneath his breath, bringing her blush flaming to life. “Dinna think for a minute that I missed ye wee embrace on the mountain. Seems I best deliver this letter sooner than later.” He laughed, patting his pocket and turning towards the house, whistling a merry tune as he went.

A sharp, crud rebuke was on the tip of her tongue, and she almost yelled it after him before she remembered where she was, and that first impressions really did count.

She’d seen Brian deliberately handing the letter to Murtagh before he left. She’d had no idea what it contained. But after Brian had announced, loud enough for them to hear, that it was intended for Jenny, she took a wild guess.

It was about her and Jamie.

She growled under her breath, thankful that Gordie had silently disappeared with Brimstone, and bent to retrieve her bags.

“Dinna even think about it.” Jamie warned, scooping down to grab them before she could. She smirked up at him and dropped a deep curtsy.

“I wouldn’t dare, my Lord.”

His lips twitched as he motioned with his full hand for her to walk, and fell into step beside her.

“Ye ken, Sassenach, that’s twice now that ye’v called me such, and I find I like it. Tells me ye ken ye place. So see ye remember it.” He told her sternly, trying and failing to hide the laughter in his voice.

“Oh, I will, my Lord, worry not. Just don’t be surprised if I use it to my advantage and it backfires.” She smiled sweetly, swinging her skirts and clasping her arms at the small of her back.

“Ye wee minx.” He growled quietly, drawing a light easy laugh from her as they passed from the stable yard and into the garden.

“God, it really is beautiful.”

“Aye, but ye put it to shame, lass.” He breathed, turning his head to smile down at her.

“Unca maymie!”

Both their heads whipped around, and a beaming smile broke out on Claire’s face, as she watched a dark haired toddler stumbled towards them at full speed. The small black puppy yapping at his heels completed the perfect picture, and her heart almost stopped when Jamie crouched down, dropped her bags, and scooped the young boy up against his chest.

“Ah, there’s me lad.” He cheered, holding the boy with his one free arm, and standing easily as the puppy bounded around his feet. “It took ye long enough. I’v been here for hours.”

“I couldna see ye.” The boy gasped his eyes wide as he looked around the garden. “Where ye hided?”

“I canna tell ye that!” Jamie gasped in shock. “You’ll ken where to look next time, so it wouldna be a good hiding place, aye?”

“Aye.” The boy nodded so vigorously Claire feared his head might pop off.

The whole scene was, hands down, the most adorable thing she’d ever seen. It was clear that the boy was his two year old nephew wee Jamie, and while he wasn’t small for his age, he looked positively tiny wrapped up against his massive uncle. She was so desperate to pull her phone out of her bag to snap a photograph. It was a moment she wanted to remember forever, and she promised herself that when she was sure not to be caught, she’d do just that.

“Who dat?”

“Ah, well.” Jamie’s smiled bending to place wee Jamie’s back on his feet. “This is my good friend Mistress Claire. She’s a healer come all the way from London to help ye mam when she has the wee bairn. Can ye say hello?”

“I’d say she were more than that!” An angry voice growled startling Claire.

She looked up from wee Jamie to see a small, dark haired, heavily pregnant woman, storming across the garden, waving a sheet of paper in the air. Her eyes, as blue as Jamie’s, were shooting fire and it took everything she had to hold her ground.

“Janet.” Jamie hissed in warning as he stepped in front of her, shielding her from his furious sister.

“Don’t ye Janet me! Was _one_ foreign stray enough for ye? Or have ye knocked this one up an’ all, ye damn fool?” She yelled, hitting him with the paper, and stunning Claire into silence. “Oh, of course ye have, why else would ye bring her home? As though ye’v no brought us enough misery an’ shame! There’s plenty of women in Scotland that ye could take to wife, ye ken!”

“ENOUGH!” Jamie roared, his livid voice echoing around the garden as he towered to his full height over his sister. “No another word, Janet if ye ken what’s good for ye. Do ye hear me? Cause bairn or no, I’ll see ye arse stripped raw, lass.” He threatened, his voice so quietly and deadly that she had no doubt that he meant it.

She tried to swallow, but her throat was so dry with shock, that she almost choked. She was completely gobsmacked and near as livid as Jamie.

_How fucking dare she!_

He’d spoken so highly of his sister, and while she’d expected her be wary of any women he brought home, she hadn’t even attempted to get to know her. But it was her cruel words to Jamie that had Claire’s blood boiling in her veins.

She understood that Jenny had to witness some of what Annalise had wrought. But it was Jamie, and Jamie alone, that had suffered though the pain and misery. It was him that had watched his children die, and had lived a life of loneliness with a wife that hated him, not her. She had no right to punish him for it. He’d been though enough, and his heart was only just mending.

If the short arsed harpy thought for a minute that she’d let her get away with it, she had another thing coming.

“If ye think for a minute that I’ll let ye child bride anywhere near me or the bairn…”

“This is _my_ house, Jenny. _My_ land, an’ _my_ choice. If ye dinna like it, then pack ye…fuckin’ bags an leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head over to Tumblr to check out a couple of pictures of Lallybroch. 
> 
> https://monigheandonn1743.tumblr.com/post/177277823957


	19. Chapter 19

The quiet, hiccuping, whimpers of wee Jamie seemed deafening in the other wise deathly silent garden. The small boy was half buried in his mother’s skirts, staring up at his uncle, his eyes wide with fright, his cheeks streaked with tears, and his plump bottom lip trembling alarmingly.

The sight completely broke her heart.

Before her eyes had drifted to the terrified child, she’d been waging a near impossible internal battle. Fluctuating between jumping head first into the melee, to defend herself and Jamie, or keeping her mouth shut…for now…and letting him handle it. She was _his_ sister and Claire didn’t want to do anything to embarrass him or undermine his authority.

But it had been a close call. She was so infuriated she could hardly see through her rage, and she’d been on the verge of going nuclear on the pint sized shrew.

_Child bride my arse!_

Then she’d noticed wee Jamie, and as she stood looking at him, reason had penetrated the fog of her mind and she’d clenched her jaw tight against the words dying to pour out. The poor baby had seen more than enough, and she needed to do something to put a stop to it. But short of snapping him up and marching into the house, she had no choice, she had to enter the fray.

She took a deep breath, attempting to calm herself enough to speak rationally, and looked back up. The two Fraser sibling were still stood toe to toe, glaring at each other, one shrouded in hurt and anger, the other in righteous indignation. If _she’d_ been about to go nuclear, it was nothing compared to what was brewing between the two of _them._

Just the thought of coming between them was enough to have her praying for her life. But she was the only adult here that seemed to still have an iota of sense left. So she took another deep breath for courage, stepped around Jamie and placed a gently hand on his arm.

“Jamie?”

He didn’t move, it was as though he’d completely forgotten that she was there. But Jenny did and her hate filled eyes snapped to Claire’s so quickly she thought her head would spin.

_Linda Blair eat your heart out._

“Dinna even _think_ about it!” Jamie growled in warning, his voice so cold that it sent a shiver down the back of her spine. “Ye dinna speak to her. _Ever_.” Jenny turned quickly to look back up at him, and clenched her fists around the letter.

“When ye minds bein’ controlled by ye cock, yer in no place to tell me what I can an’ canna _think_ , James Fraser.” Jenny spat back as she took a step closer to him. “So get this Sassenach hoor off my property afore I give ye one less brain to think wit’.”

“I think we’ve established who’s property this is, Janet _Murray_ so be mindful of how ye speak of it’s future mistress, ye wee bitch.”

“Jamie…” she tried again, one eye on the fight and one on the small boy that had fallen onto his bottom as his mother moved.

“I’m the mistress of Lallybroch…”

“Like hell ye are…”

“Jamie?”

“…an’ I willna have ye stray harlot an ye wee bastard bairn…”

“…ye run the house cause ye asked to stay on when da left. But no more…

“Jamie, stop.”

“…usurp my position an’ run it into the ground. She’s no but a child…”

“Oh for God sake!” Claire growled, giving up on the feuding pair and crouching down to wee Jamie. “Come here, sweetheart.” She cooed quietly, scooping the little boy up into her arms. She almost wept along with him when he buried his head in the crook of her neck and held on tight. “It’s alright. Ssh.”

She was a complete stranger, yet he was so scared he’d come to her without question, and she needed to get him away. Holding him close, she rubbed his trembling back and covered his ear with her hand, as she stood and turned to walk towards the house as fast as she could. If they wanted to kill each other, fine, but she wasn’t letting the baby witness it.

“Get ye rancid hands off my boy, ye Sassenach bitch!”

“No.” She called back calmly, not even bothering to look behind her as she passed through the garden gate, and across the driveway.

There was a whole load of vitriol that she planned to lay at Jenny’s feet. There was no way on earth that she’d _ever_ let her get away with the shit she was spewing. If it wasn’t for wee Jamie she’d have done it there and then, because she’d had enough. But right now the scared little boy was her priority.

“If ye lay a finger on her, I’ll flay ye alive.” Jamie hissed, his dangerous voice much closer than it should have been. Brian had warned her of his temper, but in truth she hadn’t really believed him. Other than the small incident with the mug, she’d seen no sign of it.

Now that she had, she made a mental note to try and stay on his good side. Because she had no doubt that before the end of the day, Jenny would see the strap.

Hitting a man, woman or child went against everything she believed it. But her twenty first century morals meant nothing here, where belting and flogging were the norm. So no matter how much the thought turned her stomach, it was the reality, and something she was going to have to get used too.

“Get off me, ye bastard, afore I tear ye bollocks off.” Jenny screeched, pulling her back from her thoughts.

“What the _hell_ is goin’ on?”

Claire froze at the bottom of the steps and looked up at the man that held his position at the top. He was tall, almost as tall as Jamie, but not nearly a big. He had dark brown hair, tied low at the back of his neck, and deep set dark eyes that moved quickly between her and what was happening behind her.

“Ye damn wife’s lost her mind.” Jamie growled as he passed her and mounted the steps, dragging a thrashing Jenny by her arm. “If ye dinna skin her arse, Ian, be sure that I _will_. The wild bitch dinna ken when to keep her trap shut.”

“I’ll keep my trap shut when ye learn to keep yer cock in yer kilt!” Jenny spat back as she turned in his grasp, drew her leg back, and booted Jamie in the shin. He growled out a Gaelic curse and shoved her towards Ian who clamped his own hands around her arms.

“Janet Murray!”

“That’s enough!” Claire shouted finally reaching the end of her patience. Three pairs of eyes shot to her, and she squared her shoulders and looked up at them, still attempting to sooth wee Jamie. “If you two want to kill each other, fine, go ahead I won’t stop you. But right now there’s a baby boy scared half out of his wits. So until he’s out of hearing range, show some maturity and shut the hell up.”

“I couldna have said it better myself.” Murtagh said calmly as he appeared behind Ian and walked down the steps towards her. “I’m ashamed off ye, Janet, an so will ye da be when he hears.” He told her sternly as he plucked wee Jamie out of Claire’s arms and continued along the drive way. “We’ll be in the stables, an’ I suggest ye take yer conversation somewhere more private.”

“In the house, Jenny, an’ no another word.” Ian ordered, as he turned her towards the door and gently nudged her back. Jenny huffed, steam still pouring from her ears, and grabbed her skirts before marching into the house. Making sure to throw Jamie a death glare as she passed. “I apologize for my wife.” Ian said, as he turned back to face her.

Ordinary she’d brush it off and tell him not to worry, that it was okay. But it wasn’t okay. The pain in Jamie’s eyes, when Jenny had hurled her hurtful words, will haunt her for a long time to come. No matter how angry she was, it was cruel and uncalled for.

“It’s not your responsibility to apologize, and it’s not just me that’s owed an apology. But thank you.” She nodded, as Jamie held out his hand for her to join them. He was still murderously angry. So much so, that she could feel his hand trembling with the repression of it, as he wrapped it around hers and helped her up the steps.

“If ye hadna already guessed, this is my brother-in-law Ian Murray.” He introduced as he removed his hand from hers and placed it at the small of her back. “Ian this is Mistress Claire Beauchamp from Oxfordshire.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Murray.”

“Ye as well, Mistress Beauchamp.” He bowed politely, though his confusion at the whole situation was still clear on his face. Despite being in the middle of it, she couldn’t claim much clarity herself, so she just had to hope that Jamie would shed some light.

“Come, lass. Ye need ye rest.” Jamie instructed adding pressure to her back and guiding her through the doorway and into a huge hall. “I’ll see her settled an’ meet ye in the study, Ian.”

“Aye.”

Silently, he lead her further into the room, and as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Claire noticed an older, plump woman waiting patiently at the foot of the stairs. She was calm and serine, acting as though world war three….or one as it would be…wasn’t just breaking out at the front of the house. She curtsied when she saw Jamie and he drew her closer and stopped just a few feet away.

“Mrs Bissett, please show Mistress Beauchamp up to the ivory room an’ see her comfortable.” He instructed without introducing her. “Send Aggie up with water for her to wash up, an’ something to see her over ‘til dinner.”

“Aye Milord.” She curtsied again, “I’ll take care of er’ dinna fash. Come, Mistress, ye look dead on ye feet, ye do.”

Claire looked up at Jamie about to tell him that she was fine, that she didn’t need rest and that she wasn’t hungry. She didn’t want to leave him, not when he was clearly so upset, and what she needed was to be in his arms. But she could see from the look in his eyes, that now wasn’t the time. He needed to deal with the aftermath of hurricane Jenny, and he didn’t want her witness to it.

“Go lass.” He whispered, as he reached up and ran a finger softly down her cheek. “I’ll get yer bags and bring em up to ye.”

“Okay.” She whispered back as she offered him a sweet smile of comfort. _I love you._

_As I do ye._ He mouthed back as he took her hand in his and pressed his lips to her palm in a lingering kiss. Then he closed her fingers around it and sent her on her way.

He watched her go with his heart still stuck in his throat, smiling at her softly each time she looked back, despite the seething anger that still raged in his guts. He’d never been so ashamed and embarrassed by anyone in his life.

Nor so proud.

Claire had composed herself like a true lady, but if he laid eyes on his foul mouthed sister before he’d calmed down, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.

As soon as she disappeared around the corner, he spun on his heels and stormed back out to the gardens. He needed to collect her bags, make sure she was well, and then speak to Ian about his vapid wife. She was out of her damn mind if she thought for a second that there’d be no repercussions for her actions. With child or not, she’d pay dearly for the hurt and humiliation he’d seen in Claire’s eyes.

He was happier then he’d ever been in his life, and the joy of bringing Claire home for the first time had been unequivocal. She’d looked so beautiful stood on the mountain, gazing in awe at all that was to be hers, that she’d had neigh on stollen his breath. In that moment he’d have handed her the world, and he could hardly wait to get her home and introduce her to his family.

But in the first parting of her vicious lips, Jenny had erased all of that joy and expectation. He had no idea what his da had written in that letter, but it had been a red rag to a bull, and he wouldn’t stand for it.

Seeing the bags, he grabbed them off the grass and stormed back into the house. Ignoring the curious stares from the staff, he took the stairs two at a time and quickly made his way to her bedchamber. It wasn’t proper, and it was bound to start rumors but they wouldn’t be alone, and at the moment he really didn’t care.

His quick knock was answered by Mrs Bissett, and when she saw the bags, she stepped back and allowed him entrance. Claire was stood by the window, with the suns soft rays dancing on her skin, and highlighting the deep auburns in her hair, she looked almost angelic. But when she glanced up at him, her eyes bright with tears, he placed her bags on the floor and quickly crossed the room towards her.

“Hush, Lass.” He whispered, wrapping his arm around her, and pulling her against his chest. “Dinna weep, ye break me heart.”

“I’m so sorry.” She stuttered, swiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. “I’m sure this is the last thing you need.”

“What I need is no matter.” He argued, tilting her head up so he could see her bonny eyes. “It’s what ye need that worry’s me. What can I do?”

“Oh, you dear, sweet man.” She whispered, reaching up to cup his face in both hands. “I need _you_ to be happy. I’m not crying for myself, I’m crying because I’m so angry at the way she hurt you. So please, don’t worry about me, I’m in good hands with Mrs Bissett. So, you go and do what you need to do and I’ll be here when you need me.”

“What did I ever do to deserve ye?” He breathed as he brought her close and pressed his lips to her forehead.

“Ha, you say that now!” She laughed, flashing him a cheeky wink, as she straightened herself up and took a step back. “Just wait until it me at the wrong end of your wrath. You’ll be cursing the day you met me then.”

“Never.”

“We’ll see, my Lord.”

“Minx.”

“Aye.” She drawled in her terrible Scottish accent. He laughed and brushed a lock of her long hair out of her eyes, before stepping back and walking away.

“I’m still in the frame of mind to belt someone, ye ken.” He called over his shoulder as Mrs Bissett quickly moved out of his way and opened the door.

“You’d have to catch me first.” She sassed, blowing him a kiss as she made her way towards the bed and sat down. Just seeing her there on the soft mattress, surrounded by the ivory sheets and billowing curtains, was enough to send his blood running south.

He wanted noting more than to take all his anger, all his pain, all his love and to lose himself completely within her. He couldn’t wait much longer without losing his mind, or taking her regardless and damning the consequences.

“I already have.” He told her, flashing her a wink of his own as he walked from the room. “A moment, Mrs Bissett.” He asked, drawing the housekeeper into the hall.

“Milord?”

“She’ll need a selection of clothin’ an’ such. Take em from my mam’s chest. As much as she needs, an’ send a note to the dressmaker in the village. I want her here tomorrow.” He ordered. “I’ll spare no expense.”

“Aye, Milord.” She smiled, her eyes twinkling with merriment, “She’s to be the new Lady, aye?”

“God willin’ Mrs B.” He nodded and turned towards the stairs and what awaited him in the study.

He caught young Rabbie MacNab coming in from the kitchen, and scaring the poor lad to death, he ordered his presence in the study. Ian was stood by the fire, leaning on the mantle, will a glass of whiskey in one hand, and his head in the other. He felt much the same, and he nodded to him briefly before sat to pen a quick note. Sanded, folded and sealed, he sat back in his chair and motioned the pale lad over.

“See this note to Father MacBride at the kirk.” He instructed, handing the letter over to the lads keeping. “T’is important, ye ken. It goes to him an’ no-one but. Wait as long as ye need, then come back, an’ they’ll be a shillin’ in it for ye.”

“Aye, Milord. Thank ye.” He bowed, near bouncing on his heels, eager to be away.

“Good lad. Be gone wit’ ye.”

Rabbie shot out of the door like his arse was on fire, and Jamie sighed as he pushed up from his chair and made his way over to the decanters.

“So ye to marry again?” Ian asked as he moved from the mantle to take a seat before the fire. Jamie could feel his eyes burning into his back, and he just hoped Ian would be more understanding than his sister had obviously been. He was in no mood to battle with his friend as well.

“I’v no asked her yet, but, aye. God willin’ she’ll be me wife as soon as the banns are read.” He nodded, before downing his drink and topping off his glass. He’d need more than one to get through the rest of the day.

“Ye da said she’s a healer.”

Surprised by his knowledge, Jamie turned quickly to see Ian holding up the letter that had so enraged Jenny. He moved forward and set his drink down, before he snatched the letter out of Ian’s hand, and sank into the chair opposite him.

“Aye, she is. An’ a damn fine one too.” He told Ian with pride as he shook the crumpled paper out so he could read.

_Jenny my dear,_

_Due to matters arising at Leoch, and a joyous event yet to take place, I’ve sent your brother home early from his planned trip to Beauly, without him once having set foot on the estate._

_Lacking your brothers much desired attention, the castle will remain in dire need of repairs and a collection of rents that remain long overdue. So, I ask, my dear, that once the bairn comes, and you are fit for travel, that your Ian takes up the office in Jamie’s place and sees the tasks complete._

_The trip will give you an opportunity to see more of the world beyond Lallybroch, and your brother a chance to honeymoon at his own home in tranquility with his bride to be._

_Ah yes, a honeymoon. The mention of it brings me to the point of Mistress Claire Beauchamp. A wonderful young lady from England, trained in the arts of healing, and skilled in the task of drawing the long lost light from your brothers eyes._

_Since witnessing her care and talents in the treatment of illness and injury, I have secured her services to aid you in the birthing chamber. I have no doubt in my mind that we will be leaving you in good hands, as we enjoy our whiskey in the peace and quiet of your brothers study._

_I will be journeying to Lallybroch myself in hopes of staying to welcome two new members to our small family. But first, I must see the captured Captain Jonathan Randell esquire, to the gallows at Fort William._

_You should take time to ask your new sister-to-be how that event came to take place. For it’s a shocking and amusing tale, that the man still bears injury from._

_I must leave you now, but I do so with a final request._

_We both ken well how rumors and spite can easily destroy the reputation of a young lass. Away in London as he was, your brother was spared that painful knowledge, and the new couple have a tendency to forget themselves easily._

_So, I ask that you and Ian take up the role of chaperones until my return, and see no harm befall our dear Claire._

_I will be with you soon, my lass, but until then I remain_

_Your loving father._

_Brian Fraser_

“What happened when I was in London?” Jamie asked, looking up from the letter to stare at Ian. He’d heard nothing of any ill befalling Jenny, but at the time he heard naught of anything but his own sorrows.

His friend shrugged and knocked back his drink, before raising to pour another.

“Ach, t’was somethin’ and nothin’.” He sighed bringing the decanter back with him and topping up Jamie’s glass. “Martin Mackimmy followed Jenny into the barn. T’was for no reason other than to help her carry the milk, but Blair Twaddle saw and caused a right raucous in the village. Claimed the newly minted Lady Janet a fallen woman.

“Her reputation was in tatters, an’ she refused to wed me for fear of bringin’ me down with her. No one of her friends stood by her, an’ they werena at the Kirk when she did finally agree.”

“And yet she loudly and viciously slanders Claire, out in the open for all and sundry to hear? Even after readin’ what me da wrote?” He seethed screwing the letter up in his hand and throwing it against the wall. “I’m sorry Ian, but I have verra little sympathy for her at the moment. An’ if she’s done any damage to the lass, I’ll no see her set foot in Lallybroch again after ye leave for Beauly.”

“I canna say I blame ye, brother.” Ian huffed as he slouched back down in his seat. “I dinna understand what’s gotten into her. No that she’s a placid lass, like, but she shamed us both today, an’ i’ll see her dealt with, dinna worry about that.”

“See that ye do, ‘cause so help me Ian, I’ll belt her myself.” He warned holding Ian’s eyes as he took a drink. Ian nodded and Jamie slouched back in his chair and closed his eyes, wounded and drained. “Claire’s no a lass to speak in haste, but when she’s got her mind right, she’ll have a thing or two to say herself, ye ken.”

“An’ are we to stand back and watch the fireworks?”

“Aye, I think she deserves her say after listening to such insults.” He sighed, part dreading and part anticipating the inevitable showdown.

“Fair enough. Now tell me how ye happened to meet her. She’s a long way from home, no?”

_Ye have no idea, brother._


	20. Chapter 20

Half out of her mind with worry, Claire sat before the fire in the silent confines of her bedchamber, with an untouched glass of wine, watching the flames as they flickered and danced in the hearth. It had been almost two hours since Jamie had left her, and despite the hubbub of activity that had rippled in his wake, every second that passed had been pure agony.

She’d tried to keep herself occupied. At first by exploring the beautifully appointed room, then by hiding her bags, before finally surrendering herself to the attentions of Mrs Bissett and her gaggle of ducklings. But nothing had worked. While her body had been washed and dressed, prodded and poked, her mind had been in the, as yet unseen, study with Jamie.

There had been levity in their exchange before he’d left her rooms with a playful warning and an owlish blink. But since their time together on the ridge, he seemed to have ceased any attempts to hide his emotions from her, and the hurt and worry in his eyes had been all too clear.

She wanted nothing more than to go with him, to hold his hand, and to stand united against the miniature nazi and her cruel, unfounded accusations. But that wasn’t how things worked in this time. Jamie had requested _Ian’s_ presence in his study, not her’s and not his sisters. So she’d sent him on his way with nothing more than a promise to be there if he needed her.

She had no doubt that he’d be sat in his study now, drinking whiskey with Ian and deciding how _they_ thought the situation should be dealt with. Whether it was the right way or not would be irrelevant. They were men, they made the decisions, and without the privilege of being his wife, it wasn’t her place to interfere.

And even then it would be frowned upon.

That Jenny would be receiving a physical punishment, was obvious, but how much good it would do was questionable. In _her_ opinion it was pointless and acutely barbaric. You couldn’t actually _beat_ sense into someone, especially not a hormonal pregnant woman. The most it would do is give her a sore arse and a real reason to hate Claire’s presence there.

But it was out of her hands, and _something_ had to be done. The diatribe she’d flung at Jamie in her attack was vicious, callous and unforgivable. Yet, what that something was, Claire didn’t know. Jenny was clearly in no mood to be reasoned with, and whatever had been in that letter, had been enough to close her mind off to the thought of Claire as Jamie’s wife.

So what could they do?

In the long term she didn’t know. The house was big, but it wasn’t so big that she could spend the rest of her life avoiding her sister-in-law. But what she did know was that, whether her mind was closed off or not, Jenny _would_ be hearing Claire’s opinion.

The last thing she wanted to do was make things worse for Jamie, so in that sense, she was glad she’d had this time alone to calm down some. But there was just no way in hell that she would allow her words to go unanswered.

Jenny Murray would be getting a taste of her own medicine, and it would be more than her arse that stung when she’d finished with her.

Sighing, she set her glass down on the table, and rose to make her way over to the window. She needed a change of scenery, but until her new ladies maid, Maggie, returned with the dress she’d taken to hem, Claire was trapped in her bedroom.

After tightening the belt on her dressing gown, she lent against the cold stone wall and stared out into the garden unseeing.

When Mrs Bissett had returned, she’d brought with her a huge chest full of beautiful dresses, undergarments and nightwear. Where they’d come from, Claire had no idea, but as long as they weren’t Annalise’s she didn’t really care. Although she’d bathed each morning, she’d had no change of clothes, so had been wearing the same dress for three days. It was so filthy she doubted it would ever come clean.

Thankfully, five of the new dresses had been deemed suitable by Mrs Bissett, and one had been rushed off with Maggie for altering in time for dinner. But that left her in nothing but her new shift, dressing gown, and the God awful, highly uncomfortable belt thingie that held her rag in place.

She felt and looked like a bloody sumo wrestler.

A knock at the door startled her, and she spun around, hand clutching her chest, in time to see Maggie poke her head into the room.

“Sorry if I scairt ye, Mistress.” She blushed, dropping a quick curtsy, before scurrying over to the bed and laying the dress out, “His Lordship’s requested ye company, so we best git ye ready quick like.”

Her stomach somersaulted at the thought of finally seeing Jamie, and she quickly crossed the room towards Maggie, shrugging out of her robe as she walked. She had to stop herself from asking how he seemed, remembering just in time that Maggie was staff, and this wasn’t twenty first century girl talk.

“Thank you, Maggie.” She said instead as she slipped her arms in the stays the young girl held out, and turned to grab hold of the bedpost. “Did he say where I’m to meet him?”

“In his study, Mistress. I’ll show ye the way, so dinna fash. The house takes some gittin’ use to.”

“I can imagine.” She squeaked, as the laces were pulled tight, forcing all of the air out of her lungs.

“Me mam always told me to take a deep breath an’ hold it. That way they’re no too tight, an’ ye can still breathe when they’re tied off.” Maggie hinted kindly and waited while Claire filled her lungs, then quickly bound the stays and stepped back to grab the skirts.

“And just like that, you’re my new favourite person.” Claire laughed breathing deep and sighing with pleasure, “Truly, Maggie, thank you.”

As she’d intricately pinned Claire’s hair earlier, Maggie had quietly explained that she’d never been a ladies maid before. She’d helped Jenny on occasion, when her own maid had been sick, but she was actually a chamber maid, just covering the role until Claire found someone permanent.

Or something to that effect.

She wasn’t sure if she’d ever get used to having servants, let alone one who’s sole job it was to wash her, dress her and see to her every need. But as Jamie proudly pointed out, as the principal family, it was the Frasers job to see their people in employment. So, she’d have to suck it up, and after seeing Maggie’s skill at hairdressing, and listening to the sage advice she just given, as far as Claire was concerned, the job was hers if she wanted it. When everything had calmed down, she’d talk to Jamie about it, and see what he thought.

“There now.” Maggie smiled as she tied off Claire’s dress and straightened her skirts. “Ye look right bonny, Mistress.”  
  
“All thanks to you and your skillful fingers.” She praised her quietly as she turned to face the mirror.

The dress really was beautiful, and Maggie had done a wonderful job at the quick alterations. Though still made of heavy wool, it felt lighter than the ones she’d been given at Leoch. The sleeveless bodice was made of deep red and green tartan, and left the neckline and the sleeves of her shift to serve as a blouse of sorts. The skirt was a rich deep red, and overlaid on one side by a dark forest green layer, one that could be brought up to use as a shawl if she needed it.

She felt as bonny as Maggie had declared her to be, and she smiled slightly, as she pushed her feet into the slippers that the younger girl held out.

“They’re still a wee bit big, but i’v stuffed the toes wit’ rags, an’ it should be enough to keep em on until ye can order new ones.” Maggie explained as she wound the laces around Claire ankles. She wiggled her toes, checking the fit and marveling at how comfortable they were compared to her boots.

“They’re perfect, thank you.”

“Ach, they’ll do.” Maggie waved her off as she stood and quickly walked towards the door. “Are ye ready to leave?”

“Lead the way.”

She followed Maggie out of the room, looking in wonder at the wealth displayed in a simple hallway. She’d been too agitated to notice on the way in, but with a clearer mind, she could really appreciate it now.

Lallybroch was absolutely nothing like Leoch. There, the damp stone walls, the narrow winding passageways and the sparse empty rooms, marked the castle for what it was. Nothing but a hollow keep, built to shelter the Laird and to display his power.

But this was a home.

It was as warm, light and welcoming as it’s master, and his mark shone through in the high arched windows, the rich comfortable rugs, and the beautiful family portraits that donned the walls.

As she turned the last corner, she stopped at the top of the stairs and looked down, unable to hide her smile. Washed, shaved and redressed in his regal highland attire, was the Lord of the manor himself. Just the sight of him nearly took her breath away, and as she watched him pacing restlessly, she decided that Lallybroch was more than just a home.

It was _their_ home.

It was the place where they would marry, raise a family, and live out all the day of their lives. So no matter what Jenny said or did, Claire wouldn’t let her ruin this homecoming for them. With Jamie she was happier than she ever dreamed she would be, and she planned to ensure that he was too.

“Looking for someone, My Lord?” She called quietly, drawing his attention as she took the first step down the stairs towards him.

“Aye, Milady.” He smiled, as he stopped pacing and stood, arms clasped behind his back, and let his eyes rake languidly over her body. “Wee Rabbie MacNab.”

“Oh. In that case, I’m sorry but I can’t help you,” she shrugged nonchalantly as she held her skirts and took each step carefully. “I wouldn’t know him if I fell over him.”

“Shame. He was deliverin’ a verra important letter for me, an’ I was hopin’ he’d be back by now.”

“Maybe you should go after him?”

“Nay,” he smiled, shaking his head as he reached for her hand and brought it up to his lips. “I find there’s a task I need to complete first, an’ there is a quicker, more satisfactory way to achieve my goal.”

“And if you fail in _your_ task?” She asked, raising an eyebrow and accepting the arm he offered her.

“Then he really has had a wasted journey, an’ I’m down a shillin’ for naught but a broken heart.” He sighed forlornly, making her laugh, as he lead her through a doorway into a beautifully appointed parlor. “A tour for Milady before dinner?”

“Sounds perfect, My lord.” She smiled stepping closer to him and reaching up to touch his shoulder. “But first tell me why you appear the have the use of _both_ of your arms.”

“Ach. There wasna a doctor available to strap it back down after bathing. An’ I dinna think it proper to call ye to my rooms.” He chuckled, rolling the joint and making Claire wince.

“We’ll leave it off for now, but just be careful. No heavy lifting, or sword fighting, or arm wrestling, or…”

“Aye, Sassenach. I get the picture.” He laughed as he nudged her gently and started the tour.

He lead her slowly from room to room, explaining what had made up the old house and how they’d planned the new one around it. A feat that had been accomplished so seamlessly that she could hardly tell the difference. He took her through the dining room, the west parlor, the study, and the music room with its beautiful grand piano and wide open French doors.

“How in the world did they get that through the mountain pass?” She asked in awe, as she carefully lifted the lid and depressed the ivory keys, smiling at the tinkling sound.

“Verra carefully.” He winked releasing her arm and stepping back. “Do ye play?”

“Very little, and unfortunately not anything that would be…suitable.” She laughed, closing the lid and turning to face him. He was leaning against the piano, watching her with such a look of love that she had to lock her knees so she didn’t fall into his arms. “How’s this task of yours coming along? I assume it has something to do with our tour?”

“Ye dinna miss a thing, do ye, lass.” He murmured as he pushed off the piano and took a step closer to her. “T’is comin’ along well I think, but it’s no a task that can be rushed. A man has to take his time, ensure all the pieces are in the proper place. If he shows his hand too soon, all could end in disaster.”

“Sounds serious, My Lord.” She whispered, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest, and her head feeling light.

“T’is. But I have a plan that’s sure no to fail.”

“Is that so?”

“Aye.” He nodded, looking down at her and flashing her another one of his adorable winks.

Nervous laughter bubbled up in her throat, and came out in a quiet snort. They were so close, too close to resist temptation and she needed to do something to break the tension, before she said fuck it all and kissed him for all to see.

“You do realise that you’re completely hopeless at winking?” She breathed, staring up at him, completely overcome with love for her beautiful Viking warrior.

“Oh, Aye.” He murmured gently, as he took both of her hands in his and brought them together up to his lips. “An’ while we’re on the topic of what I canna do. I canna sing either, nor dance so well now I come to think on it. I like music well enough, but I canna _hear_ it. T’all sounds the same.”

“Unforgivable, My Lord.”

“Mmm.” He hummed in that deep Scottish way, that sent a shiver down her spine. “Come, lass.”He smiled, kissing her hand, and placing it on his arm, before leading her towards the French doors.

“Wow.” She gasped, tightening her grip, as she stepped through them and stopped to take in the view. It was a back garden of sorts, with at least an acre of neatly cut grass that jutted up to a verandah at back of the house. Small stone benches and sandy graveled pathways were dotted around, leading the way down to a natural pond that teamed with life.

But it was the view beyond that left her speechless. Some way behind the water, the land dropped into a valley, and she could see for miles across the fields and moorlands, up to the foot of the mountains. It was spectacular and she realised that while Lallybroch _wasn’t_ a castle, it had still been built on high ground as a means of safety.

“Jamie, it’s amazing.” She breathed as she stepped out onto verandah and turned to look up at him. He was admiring her, as closely as she’d been admiring his land, and he smiled softly as he reached up to brush a finger down her cheek.

“T’is, but it could be so much more.”

“I don’t see how.” She gasped, looking from him to the view and back again. “How do you improve upon perfection?”

“For ye, t’would be impossible.” He smirked, making her blush as he nicked her chin gently. “But for as beautiful as the land is, t’is naught but an empty space.” He smiled, moving his hand to her shoulder and turning her back towards the view. He wrapped his arms around her waist, much as he had this morning, and pulled her back against his chest. “It should be filled with love and laughter. With bairns playin’ an learnin’ to swim…”

“With picnics in the sun, and story’s told around fire pits at night.” She whispered, picking up on his vision.

The lump in her throat was painful, but she couldn’t keep the small, wistful smile off her face. He was painting the life she’d imagined, the one he’d dreamed of for himself and lost. The one that had terrified him so much that he’d vowed a life of celibacy.

Until now.

“Ye can see it.” He breathed, not as a question, but as a statement that she answered regardless.

“Yes.”  
  
“Ye ken, I sent wee Rabbie to the kirk, with a note for Father MacBride.” He murmured, stilling her heart, as he turned her in his arms and held her close. She looked up at him, staring into his deep blue eyes, so full of love and hope and longing, that her own instantly filled with tears and she choked back a sob.“I wanted to do this the right way. To ask ye to be my wife, to have the banns read, and to marry ye in the kirk as soon as could be. But I canna wait…”

“Jamie…”

“I ken that I canna make ye mine, no for a few days yet. But nor can I have ye so close an’ no be free to hold ye, an’ to call ye my own.” He admitted quietly, as he brushed a tear from her cheek. “Ye’v given me a love an’ a joy I thought I’d never have, an’ I canna go another day without showing’ ye the same.

“So I beg of ye, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, be my wife. Marry me here, now. Before witnesses, an’ under the eyes of God, swear ye’ll be mine.”

Her heart was lodged in her throat, and the muscles had closed around it so tight that she couldn’t breathe. She’d known this strong, sweet, loving, broken man for only ten days, and by anyone’s standards, that was far too soon to even contemplate marriage.

But she’d fallen two hundred and seventy five years into the past to find him, and since she had, he’d become her home, her true north, and the love of her life. He was everything she’d never dared to dream of finding, and here he stood, his heart in his eyes, begging her to be his wife.

“I love you.” She choked quietly, hardly able to speak, or to see through her tears. “So, yes, James Alexander Malcom Mackenzie Fraser, I’ll marry you. Anywhere, at any time.”

“Lord God, Claire. How I love ye.” He breathed, tightening his hold, and crushing her against him. Her own arms went around his waist and she melted against his warm, strong chest, her whole body trembling with happiness.

“How, where?” She asked quietly, her shaking voice muffled by his plaid. She knew enough about old Scottish customs to know of the practice of irregular marriages, but she was too overcome by emotion to think straight.

He’d really done it, he’d really asked her to marry him, and she’d agreed.

_We’re getting married!_

“T’is all but done, Sassenach.” He purred as he loosened his hold and turned them slightly. She blinked, and for the first time noticed Murtagh, Willie, Mrs Bissett and Geordie all stood a short way across the grass. Watching them with looks ranging from shock, to poorly vailed amusement.

She gasped and looked up at Jamie, swiping at her eyes and attempting uselessly to make herself presentable.

“And if I’d said no?”

“Ach, ye practically ordered me to ask ye, lass. Ye could hardly say no after that.” He winked drawing her close again and motioning their witnesses forward. “Murtagh.”

“Aye, lad.” The older man smiled as he held up a length of creamy white muslin. “Ye da’ll have me head for this, ye ken.”

“Aye, mine an’ all.” Jamie laughed softly as he reached for her hand to bring her wrist up his lips, never once taking his eyes from hers. “But I find I dinna care a bit.”

They were Hand Fasting and she couldn’t think of a more romantic setting, or a such a perfect moment to pledge herself to the man that had stolen her heart. With a feeling of utter contentment and overwhelming happiness, she held out her arm for Murtagh to bind together with Jamie’s.

“Ouch!” She hissed suddenly, attempting to pull it back, as the sharp burning pain of a knifes blade sliced through her skin. Jamie grabbed for it gently his eyes pleading with hers, as he held it tight and clasped his own bleeding wrist to hers.

“I’m so sorry, Sassenach.” He whispered drawing her close as Murtagh wrapped the cloth around their arms, binding them together.

“It’s okay.” She whispered back, smiling up at him. She would gladly suffer any amount of pain to be able to spend the rest of her life tied to this wonderful man.

Softly, so only she and Murtagh could hear, he whispered the heartfelt words of the Gaelic blood oath. Encouraging her gently and patiently to repeat what he pledged, smiling warmly as she stumbled and sobbed her way through it. Her Gaelic was appalling, and she had no idea what they’d vowed, but as the last words were spoken, the small crowed cheered in delighted.

Their sounds of celebration and welcome were distant, as though she was trapped in a bubble, or deep under water, as she drowned in the eyes of her love, her husband.

“I love you.” She breathed, as he quickly unwound their arms and pulled her against his chest.

“As I love ye, mo gràdhag, mo ciad-bhean.” He whispered back, as he slowly leaned down and pressed his lips gently to hers, in their first toe curling kiss as husband and wife.


	21. Chapter 21

It was done, she was his, and may God forgive him his sin of converting her. For allowing his base desires to overrule his sense. For succumbing to temptation and putting her very life in danger. Because he couldn’t regret it, he wasn’t sorry. He loved her beyond sense, beyond reason, and beyond his fears. She was _everything_ and he nothing but clay for her to mould and shape in her delicate, capable hands.

But, for now at least, it was Claire that moulded herself to him. Bowing her wee body against his, clinging to his arms, and surrendering herself to the power of his kiss. Her lips were soft and tender, her tongue like warm, sweet honey, and her quiet breathy moans like sparks to fused dynamite.

Lord God help him.

He wanted her.

He wanted to bury himself so deep inside her, that they wouldn’t know where one of them ended, and the other began. He wanted to take her body and make it his own. Gently. Violently. Lovingly. Completely. He wanted to hear her cry out in pleasure, and feel her warm, wet, muscles clench around his cock like they had his finger.

With a deep groan of carnal need, he deepened the kiss, exploring the warm caverns of her mouth with his eager tongue. She whimpered, clutching his arms tighter, pressing her body closer. In response, he tightened his grip on her plump, juicy arse, and buried his free hand in the riot of curls atop her head, sending pins scattering to the ground around them.

A rough throat clearing, and quiet laughter, pierced through the thick vale of lust, and he all but growled out a curse against her lips. But as he pulled back and looked down at his dazed, blushing bride he couldn’t fight his smile. She was so unbelievably beautiful. With her hooded whiskey eyes, tear stained cheeks, and bee stung lips, she was a vision to be remembered forever.

“Are we really married?” She whispered, the wonder in her eyes betraying her awe. “Just like that?”

“Aye, just like that.” He whispered back as he cupped her bonny face in his large hand. “Yer mine now, mo gràdhag.”

“I’ve always have been yours.”

“Yet, there’s the small matter of a fine to pay, an’ a register to sign before ye da arrives.” Murtagh grouched from beside them.

“Way to ruin the mood, Murtagh.” Claire huffed playfully as she pulled out of his grasp and turned to face his Godfather. Jamie laughed despite his frustration, and unwilling to lose contact, his hand rose to the small of her back. “Congratulations would have sufficed.”

“My apologies, My Lady Lorne…”

“Oh, fuck…I mean shit, crap…oh God help me…I forgot about that!” She gasped her whole face on fire as she stared up at Jamie, clearly mortified, but utterly ignorant to the laughter that bust to life around her. She looked completely stricken, and he bit his lip in a vain attempt to hide his own laughter.

“Ah, lass. Never change.” He begged helplessly, as he pulled her against him and allowed her to bury her face in his shaking chest.

“God, I’m so sorry.” She muttered from her hiding place. She was so mature, so intelligent, and so seemingly confident, that it was easy to forget just how young and innocent she really was.

She was like a wild, ivory rose. A sapling so strong and resilient, yet so beautiful and fragile, that the desire to nurture her, to watch her grow and bloom under his care, was impossible to resist. She was so new to this place, to this time, and this way of life. But when her roots were firmly anchored, when she grew into her surroundings, and realised what she could do?

Then she would be magnificent.

“Ssh, dinna fash, Sassenach.” He soothed, his humor failing the the wake of her embarrassment. “I canna deny that I’m no pleased that ye forgot.”

“What? Why?” She asked raising her face to look up at him. “God, Jamie! I love _you_ , I want _you_ , I married _you_. Not your name, not your title. Whether you were king of the land, or a wanted outlaw with a price on his head, I’d have married you just the same.”

“I ken that, lass but it doesna mean I’m no touched by the reminder of it.”

“Then I’ll remind you everyday. Because you’re the best man I’ve ever known, James Fraser, and for that reason alone I’m proud to call you mine.”

“Oh, it does me old ‘art good, it does, young Willie. I’d never thought I’d see the day.” Mrs Bissett cried reminding Jamie that they weren’t alone, an issue he planned to see rectified quickly. Before Jenny found out and all hell broke loose on their wedding night. “Now run along an’ tell ye mam quick like. We’ve a new lady, an there’s sure to be a celebration afore to long.”

“As soon as His Grace arrives.” Jamie confirmed with a nod, looking away from his bride for the first time. Willie bowed to the new couple, and with a heart felt congratulations, he took off running across the garden, hell bent on sharing the news.

“Ye Mackenzie bloods showin’ ye crafty wee bastard.” Murtagh laughed, as he patted Jamie roughly on the shoulder. “But I couldna be more proud if ye were me own. Ye’ll make a formidable pair.”

“What do you mean?” Claire asked, looking between the men, before setting her eyes on Murtagh.

“With the witnesses he’s got every corner of his land covered.” He laughed, slapping Jamie again before snatching his brides arm and leading her back towards the house. “Mrs B in the house, Geordie in the stables an’ down the pub, an’ Willie an’ his mam…the town criers. They’ll no be a soul that dinna ken we’ve a new lady by night fall.”

Claire turned back to look at him, and he winked, earning himself an adorable giggle before she turned back to his Godfather.

“Any other nefarious tendencies I should be aware of?”

“Oh, Aye, I’v plenty of tales that I’ll have ye hair turning grey…”

“An’ yet I think ones enough before she’s even signed the register.” Jamie jumped in quickly as he lifted her away from Murtagh before they could cross the threshold, and planted her before him, wrapping his arms tight around her waist.

“What did I say about heavy lifting?” She scolded, turning her head to frown up at him.

“Christ, Sassenach. Me arm itself weighs more that ye do.” He scoffed rolling his eyes. There was nothing to her, save her luscious ass, and heaving bosom. Both of which he planned to lift plenty in the night to come.

Whether he could plough her depths or not.

“So, you’re a tenacious, stubborn Scot with a crafty side and a tendency to over exaggerate?” She asked, raising that irresistible eyebrow. Teasing him, tempting him.“It’s a good job you’re a married man, because your Tinder profiles not looking too hot there, William Wallace.”

“What does being married have to do with starting a fire?”

“What? Oh God.” She clasped a hand to her mouth, hiding her snort as she burst into laughter. “I’m sorry…Never mind…forget I said anything.” Her words were choked out and barely audible, as she attempted fruitlessly to bring herself under control. “I’m sorry, I think all the excitements gone to my head.”

“I think ye fit in just fine as ye are.” Murtagh chuckled, not immune to her charms. “Welcome to the family, lassie.”

“Thank you, Murtagh. For everything.” She smiled, sobering slightly as she squeezed his hand, and turned her cheek to accept his kiss.

“Ach, away wit’ ye.” He huffed, back to his gruff self as he waved her away and strode from the room.

“Are the rooms ready, Mrs B?” Jamie asked as he moved around to Claire side and clasped her hand in his. She linked their fingers together and squeezed gently, just as she had on the pass. It was the small things she did, the warm, affectionate gestures that moved him to the core.

A squeeze of her fingers, a shy loving smile, a gentle brush against him arm. All reminding him that she was there, close by, and that she loved him. He’d never experienced anything like it, never seen someone so open with their emotions. Even his mam, who loved him well, hadn’t been one to coddle or display her feelings.

But Claire? Christ, he hadn’t been touched or embraced so much in his whole life as he had since meeting her.

“Aye, Milord. An’ I’v told the girls ye no to be disturbed…by anyone.” She nodded sternly. “So they willna come unless ye ring down, an’ Jonny’ll keep watch from the end of the hall.”

“Thank ye, Mrs B.” He smiled, before leaning down and scooping Claire up into his arms. She squeaked in surprise, making him, and his retreating housekeeping, laugh joyously as he stepped into the house.

“Jamie! Put me down before you hurt yourself.” She ordered, clinging to him and attempting to ease herself down.

“Ach hush, woman!” He growled, tightening his hold and making a beeline for the stairs. “We canna have ye trippin’ over the threshold, t’is bad luck.”

“It seems we’ve passed that point already.”

“Aye. But I find I like ye just where I’v got ye. There’s no escaping now, Sassenach.”

“As if.” She scoffed, winking up at him before snuggling against his chest. “I may just have you carrying me around like this all the time.”

After making a brief stop in her room, her old room that is, to unearth her bags from their hiding place. Jamie once again lifted her into his arms, and carried her along the hallway to the masters suit. If she’d expected it to be anything like the soft, beautiful chamber she’d been assigned, she was vastly mistaken.

He set her down at the foot of the bed and stepped back, allowing her time to look around in awe. Where the other room had been light, with its cream painted walls, large Persian rugs, and billowing ivory curtains. Jamie’s room was darker, more masculine and completely _him._

The rough stone walls and wooden ceiling had been left natural and bare, with a huge iron candelabra hanging from it rafters. The ginormous bed, like all of the furniture, was made from heavy, sturdy oak, and was framed by heavy golden drapes, tied neatly to its posts. A selection of comfortable leather armchairs and a coffee-table, sat before a massive fireplace, with roaring flames dancing in its hearth.

“Will ye be happy here, do ye think?” He asked nervously, surprising her with his sudden shyness, as he took both of her hands in his and squeezed them gently. He was trembling, and the apprehension in his eyes almost broke her heart. This poor, dear man had lived a life of loneliness and pain, but it was over now, and he needed to understand that she was never leaving his side. “If ye’d rather keep ye separate rooms…”

“No.” She told him firmly, guiding his arms around her waist, and stepping into his embrace. “It’s perfect, and if you think for one minute that you’ll ever sleep alone again then you’re in for a rude awakening, husband.” She whispered, as she tenderly cupped his face and lowered it towards her own. “You’re mine, as much as I’m yours. So lock the door because I don’t plan on letting you out of _our_ room for some time to come.”

“Ah, ye slay me, wife.” He breathed, closing the distance between them, and capturing her lips with his own.

She whimpered at the first contact, as lightening fizzled in her lower belly, and she all but fell into his arms. He wound them tightly around her, and clasped onto her arse, pulling her ever closer as his tongue sought her own and she surrendered it gladly. The kiss was deep, passionate and hungry with their desire for more, as their hands roamed and clothing was loosened.

She could feel his cock, hard and ready, pressed firmly against her stomach, and her inner muscles clenched in response, desperate to feel his intrusion. She wanted him with an urgency that boarded on insanity, and just knowing they’d have to wait was agony beyond her wildest imagination.

She _needed_ him to own her, to posses her, to take her with every ounce hunger he felt. She was so close to giving in, to saying fuck it, and letting him have her. She already needed a shot of penicillin after the blood oath, so what would it really matter? But he slowed the kiss and dropped his head to her shoulder, and clarity infused her lust addled brain.

She was on her period.

_Damn fucking Mother Nature to the fiery pits of hell!_

“I’m so sorry.” She panted, winding her fingers into his hair, and holding him against her as he shuddered in her arms. “I want you, too. I wish…”

“Ssh, lass.” He whispered rising his head, and pulling her snuggly against his chest. “We have the rest of our lives, an’ for now I’m happy to have ye here, in my arms where ye belong.”

“I love you.”

“As I love ye.” He whispered, kissing her forehead and slowly releasing her. “Come, lets get ye settled an’ then we can eat.” He smiled, taking her hand and leading her to door in the corner of the room. “Ye’v yer own dressin’ room though here.” He told her, pushing open the door and stepping back to let her through. “Mines on the other side of the room.”

The first thing that caught her eye was the large wooden bathtub positioned beneath the window and covered in clean white muslin. It was honestly the last thing she expected to see and she turned around and gaped up at him.

“Dinna think I hadna noticed ye propensity to bathe, Sassenach.” He laughed as he followed her into the room. “Ye spend more time in the water than the fish.”

“You did this for me?”

“Well ye canna bathe in the streams forever.” He shrugged as a light blush tinged his cheeks, “The weather will be cool in’ soon enough. I figured ye’d enjoy the warmth.”

“Jamie.” She breathed stepping back towards him and pushing up on her tiptoes to kiss him. “You never cease to amaze me. Thank you so much…but how will we fill it?”

“Ach, we’ve enough hands around the place to bring up the water. An’ the lasses ken to heat it up before ye wake in the mornings.”

“It looks just about big enough for two…” she hinted, as she ran her hands down his chest and attempted to temper her excitement. She’d had an idea, and although she was embarrassed to suggest it, if he agreed then their wedding night wouldn’t be as…chaste as she feared.

“T’is.” He breathed stepping closer and wrapping his arms around her waist. “I’m an early riser. Are ye prepared to wake so early that I could share it with ye?”

“Always.” She whispered gliding her hand up over his shoulder and into his hair. “But I was wondering how much trouble it would be to fill it now?”

“Now?”

“Yes. It’s not perfect, but in the water there would be no…mess.” She blushed, trying desperately to keep her composure as she attempted to seduce her husband. She was mortified, but she ached for him, and she didn’t want to wait almost a week to be able to have him.

And she wasn’t on _that_ heavily.

“No mess?” He frowned, having absolute no idea what she was getting at. “I dinna ken what ye mean, Sassenach. But if ye want a bath then by all means I’ll have the lasses draw ye one…”

“Jamie.” She shushed him, as she placed her fingers over his lips. “What I want is to be your _wife_ in every sense of the word. I don’t want to wait to become yours completely. In the water we’ll stay…clean.” It took him a moment to follow what she was saying, but the moment he did, his eyebrows shot so high that they almost blended with his hair line.

“Ye want to…in the bath…while ye…how? I mean, t’is no so big that ye can lie down, ye’d drown if ye could…an ye courses…”

“There are other ways…other positions,” She explained quickly, unsurprised by now that he didn’t know. She doubted he’d had the chance to explore them before. “But I understand if you don’t want to, maybe it was a stupid idea. Even in the water there would be some mess…I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have suggested it, you must think I’m awful…”

“Hush now.” He crooned, rubbing her back, and pulling her closer against his chest. “I dinna think any such thing. I’m no squeamish or put off by a bit of blood, lass. Lord God, I’d take ye now, in my bed if ye allowed it. But I dinna think we _could_ while ye had them, an’ what of the…syphilis? I willna risk ye, Claire, no matter how much I want ye.”

_Well shit!_

She hadn’t wanted to tell him, knowing full well that he’d kick himself in the arse. But if she wanted him, now, tonight she didn’t have a choice. It was either lie, say she’d forgotten about it and call the night a bust. Or tell him the truth and do what she could to ease his fears.

And she wouldn’t start her married life by lying to her husband.

“Jamie. I’m treating you for it as a precaution.” She sighed, pulling out of his arms and leading him to back in to the bedroom. She pushed him gently down onto their bed and he complied, grasping her hips as she moved to stand between his legs. “But if, on the off chance, you have got it, then there’s a slight possibility that I could have it too.”

“What? How? We havena…”

“The blood oath.”

“Ah dia!” He hissed, tightening his hold on her as he lost all the colour from his face. “Christ, I’m so sorry, Claire. I dinna think…I should have kent…how can ye ever forgive me?” He cried, releasing her and twisting to grab her bag. He’d snapped it open before she could stop him, and was fumbling with the small case that contained the penicilin. “Which do ye need?”

“Ssh, it’s okay.” She whispered, taking the case from him and placing it carefully on the bed. “I’m fine, Jamie.” She soothed, taking his face in her hands and raising his haunted eyes to hers. “Like I said, I really doubt that you’ve ever had it. You said yourself that you’ve never had any symptoms. If you’d have missed the sores, there is no way you would have missed the rash. But on Friday, when I give you your last dose, I’ll take one myself. That way we’re covered and neither of us will be the worst for wear.”

“You’ll need three. So, why no take it now?” He begged, reaching for the case again.

“I’ll need one, not three. You only need so many because it could have been in your body for so long. Even taking it on Friday, I’ll be killing it off before it’s had time to develop. And besides.” She whispered, as she moved closer and brushed her lips against his. “I want to make love to my husband on our wedding night.”

* * *

  
Oohhh…will they or won’t they??


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING really NSFW!!!! lol you've been warned ;0)

Chapter 22

“Ah, Sassenach.” He sighed, as he flexed his fingers at her hips and let his head fall heavily onto her stomach. His guilt was so apparent, so needless and so heartbreaking that she was suddenly overcome with shame. “What I wouldna give.”

_Damn it!_

“I know.” She whispered as she wrapped her arms around him and buried her fingers in his hair. She was being a stupid, selfish, childish girl. She knew full well his fear of losing her, of the dangers he felt he was inflicting on her by simply making her his wife. They were what had sent him running in the first place, so how could she expect him to ignore them now?

He’d bared his heart and soul to her. Laid all his fears, all his pain and self-condemnations, out for her to see. So, how could she asked him to make love to her now? When he knew full well that he may have already infected her with the very thing that might have killed Annalise and his children?

She knew she couldn’t get pregnant now. She knew that if she was already infected, further exposure was irrelevant. And she knew that taking the penicillin on Friday would be enough to kill the infection before it took hold.

But he didn’t, and no matter how she attempted to explain it to him, or justify it to herself, it wouldn’t make her request any less cruel or callous. He’d been though enough of that today with his sister, and what he needed now was love and understanding from his wife.

And maybe a bit of innocent fun.

“I want ye so much, mo gradhag.” He groaned quietly, as he raised his head and looked up at her. “So much so that I fear I’ll go mad in the wantin’ of ye.”

“I know, me too. But you were right before. We’ve got the whole of our lives to spend making love. What matters now is simply being here together.” She smiled, as he slid his hands slowly up to her waist. “So we can spend the night talking, or with a game of cards, or maybe you can teach me to play chesssss…” she squealed as he lifted her and twisted their bodies quickly to lie her back on her bed beside him.

“Jamie!” She giggled, as she bounced down onto the soft feather mattress, and reached out for him to join her. He shuffled up the bed and loomed over her, with his weight resting on his elbow, and his finger running softly down her cheek.

“I willna spend our weddin’ night playin’ chess, Sassenach.” He growled moving his finger along her neck and down to the rise of her breast. “I canna risk ye life, more than I already have, but…”

“Jamie stop.” She begged, reaching up to cup his face. “Listen to me. I promised you, on the ridge, that I’d never force or cajole you, and I won’t. I love and respect you too much to ever break that promise. But I care too much about your peace of mind to let you drown yourself with guilt.

“So, you need to understand. Whether we make love tonight or not, _if_ and that’s a massive _if_ , you’re infected, I’ve already been exposed and further exposure won’t make a difference. The penicillin _will_ kill the infection and it will work just as well on Friday as it will today. But most importantly, what happened with the blood oath wasn’t your fault…”

“Aye, it was…”

“No it wasn’t!” She growled. “I’m a doctor Jamie, I could have stopped you, I knew the risks and I chose to ignore them. What I didn’t think of was your reaction to it, and I’m sorry for that. I understand why you’re so worried about it, but I promise you on everything I hold dear, that it is _not_ your fault and I will be completely fine. So, pass me the case.” She ordered lightly, holding out her hand and waiting while he reached for it blindly. “Time for you to get your revenge.”

“What?” He frowned as he watched her pull out a clean syringe and one of the large bottles of penicillin. It was her last clean needle, so she would have to find the time to sterilize them tomorrow. “I’ll no be sticking ye with that.” He gasped, rolling away as she tried to hand him the syringe.

“Aye, ye are.” She laughed, as she itched up the side her skirt and flashed him a small patch of her bottom. “I’m not doing it to myself.”

“Claire.”

“Jamie.”

“I canna.”

“You can.”

“Lord God forgive me.” He moaned, taking the needle from her and climbing to his knees. He hovered it over the place she indicated and looked up at her wide eyed. She wasn’t looking forward to it, but she was finding it near impossible not to laugh at the horrified look on his face. “T’is no funny, lass.”

“Oh I know. But just a few hours ago you were threatening to belt your sister, and yet you won’t even stab me with a tiny needle.”

“T’is different.” He growled, his eyes moving from her arse to her face. “I’m no angry with ye.”

“And if you were? Would you belt _me_?”

“Aye, if ye deserved it.” He nodded, pursing his lips, “This is no the way I envisioned seeing your arse tonight, Sassenach.”

“You do realise that if you _ever_ try to hit me with a belt, they’ll be hell to pay?” She warned seriously. There was no way on earth she would ever allow him to punish her like that. But his lips twitched, and the wink he shot her had her wondering whether he really understood the implications.

“Oh, I dinna doubt it, lass. I _did_ see what ye did to Randell after all. I’ll just have to find a way to protect my cock afore I take my strap to yer fine, fine arse.” He growled, as he bent down and bit the tender skin of her backside.

“Jamie!” She squeaked pushing his face away and dissolving into fits of laughter. “You can’t bite me!”

“Ye my wife now, lass. Mine to do with as I please.”

“Oh really?”

“Aye.”

“We’ll have to see about that.” She huffed playfully. “But for now, either stab that needle in and push the plunger down, or call the maids to fill the ba-argh-th!”

“What? Ye told me to do it.” He laughed, as he pressed the plunger and pulled the needle out of her arse.

“I know, but I wasn’t ready.” She complained childishly, her heart melting as he lent down and kissed the spot he just stabbed.

“All better?” He whispered, as he dropped the needle back in the case and stretched the length of his body back up beside her.

“Much, thank you.”

“Nay, mo gràdhag. Thank _ye_.” He murmured, brushing his lips against hers. “I dinna ken what I’v done to deserve ye, but I’ll thank God for the rest of my life.”

“Don’t make me cry.” She half laughed as she swiped a lone tear from her eye. “It’s our wedding night and while we can’t make love, there are plenty of things we _can_ do. So I’m going to freshen up, and you’re going to get comfortable.” She smiled, raising her head to kiss his lips, before she pushed him onto his back and scooted off the bed.

“Yer a bossy wee thing.” He chuckled flashing her a wink, as he reclined on the bed, with his arms crossed beneath his head.

He look so gorgeous that her heart stuttered and skipped a beat, and she was half tempted to fall back down beside him. But there was no way in hell he was getting a look at the eighteenth century Bridget Jones knickers she been forced to wear, and she needed a moment alone to get her head on straight. So she grabbed her bag, blew him a kiss and swished away towards the dressing room.

“Shit.” She breathed, as she slouched against the door and screwed her eyes shut. Her heart was pounding unsteadily in her chest, and she was full of such conflicting emotions that she couldn’t grab hold of one long enough to name it. The day had been a virtual roller coaster of ups and downs, twist and turns, and although she was exhausted, it was far from over yet.

It was her wedding night, and while she couldn’t make love to Jamie like she wanted to, she wouldn’t let it go by uncelebrated, and she doubted that he would either. So, despite her lack of experience, and her deviated hopes, she wanted to give him a wedding night he wouldn’t soon forget.

She was sure his first one had been a complete disaster, and she wouldn’t have them suffering the same fate now.

Attempting to stem the nervous butterflies that fluttered wildly in her stomach, she took a deep, calming breath and looked around the room. The only thing she’d really noticed earlier was the bathtub. But as her eyes moved from place to place, she realised that Maggie must have known what was happening.

The soap, sponges, and perfumes she’d used before were all there, lined up neatly on the dresser. And there was a basket beside it containing a clean pile of rags, and a bucket of water for the old.

A commode sat in the corner, and there was a fire burning bright in the hearth, with a small caldron of water simmering above it. There was also two other doors leading from the room. The first, she discovered, as she walked across the room and opened it, lead to the servant corridor, and the second was to a closet.

Save for a few clean shifts, stays, stockings, and her dressing gown, it was empty. But she’d found what she was looking for and, taking another deep breath, she reached in and quickly grabbed the robe.

It was a beautiful soft cream linen, that buttoned to the waist and fell away in flowing folds to the floor. The hemline, and the billowing cuffs, were embroidered with pale green vines, and soft pink roses, that danced up along the skirts and sleeves.

It was perfect for what she had in mind.

Setting it aside gently, she crouched to rummage though her bag for the ivory underwear she had buried in there somewhere. After his reaction at the stream, she knew Jamie would love them, and they would go perfectly with the robe.

No, they couldn’t make love, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t have _some_ fun, and she wanted to look and feel sexy for her husband. It was only the first day of her cycle. So, while her stomach still cramped, she really wasn’t bleeding _that_ much, and they’d be fine to play around a bit. He wasn’t squeamish after all, and it was tomorrow, and the next day, that she’d really suffer.

The underwear was right at the bottom of her bag, and after pulling it out carefully, she laid it with the dressing gown and set about getting herself ready.

Thankfully, she’d already bathed twice that day, so it didn’t take her long to freshen up and slip into the lingerie. Clean, dressed, and with a fresh rag folded neatly in her knickers, she unpinned her hair, fluffed out her curls, and took one final, deep, cleansing breath before pulling open the door.

Jamie was kneeling by the fire, his own hair free of it braid, and dressed in nothing but his shirt and kilt. He didn’t look up from his task, so she quickly placed a wet wash rag and towel on the bed side table, and slowly crept across the room towards him.

“Are ye hungry?” He asked, making her jump. She hadn’t thought he’d noticed her and she’d planned to sneak up on him.

“Not for food.” She purred as she quickly sat on the bed and lent back on her elbows, ignoring her pounding heart. She hadn’t bothered to button up the robe, and it parted down the middle revealing her lingerie clad body, and her heaving chest.

“Is that so?” He laughed, pushing to his feet and turning to face her. He froze, completely, and his eyes widened so comically that she had to bite her lip to keep herself from laughing. It was the response that she’d hoped for, that every girl dreams of getting from her man, and she silently high fived herself.

“Everything okay?” She whispered, as she rose and smoothly crossed the room towards her mute warrior. “You look a little tongue tied.”

“I’v no blood left in my head, lass. I canna think enough to speak.” He choked out, making her laugh as she ran her fingers lightly down his chest.

“Is that so?”

“Aye.”

“Then I’d say it’s a good job you’re married to a doctor.” She breathed, trailing her hand lower to the waist of his kilt and tugging his shirt free. “I’m sure if you let me…examine the problem, I can find a cure.”

“I think that’s only right, seen as ye caused the problem to bein’ with.” He murmured, as he slid his large, warm hands between the folds of her gown, and gripped her hips. “Ah, Christ, Claire…yer a vision.”

“As are you.” She murmured back, as he flexed his muscles and lifted her easily into his arms. Her legs went instantly around his waist, and they both moaned softly as she brushed against the hard shaft of his cock.

“Lord God help me.” He begged as he grabbed her arse and captured her lips with his.

The kiss was as deep and needy as every one that had come before it. All their pent up longing and frustration pouring out of them, as their tongues met and fought for dominance. In his mouth and hers, back and forward, twisting and dancing until he growled low in his throat, and squeezed her arse roughly.

She surrendered willingly, drunk on the taste of the warm, smooth whiskey and rich, sweet passion infused on his breath. She melted against him, letting him hold her weight, and take control.

“God, Claire. Let me look at ye.” He panted as he broke the kiss and slid her lazily down his body. She was dazed, completely lost in a fog of lust and need, but she complied, stepping back out of his arms and shrugging out of her robe.

It fluttered to the floor, and she took a deep breath as she looked up at him, trying to swallow her nerves. He’d seen her like this before, but this felt different some how, she felt more exposed without their teasing banter.

“All of it, lass.” He ordered gently, as he snapped the cuffs on his shirt, and pulled it swiftly over his head. Leaving his glorious bronzed chest bare. “I want to see what’s mine.”

_Jesus Christ._

She almost combusted.

The simple possession in his voice, his assumed right that she belonged to him, that she was his to do with as he pleased, was enough to make her weak at the knees. It was so bloody sexy, that she complied without thought or embarrassement.

Watching him closely, she twisted her arms behind her back, unfastened her bra, and smoothly dropped the lace to the floor. He swallowed audibly, and his tongue peaked out to wet his lips, as he raked his eyes slowly along the curves of her body. His hungry look, and the reverent way his calloused hand reached out and gently caressed breast, made her feel like Aphrodite in the flesh.

“So soft.” He marveled as he traced a weaving pattern around her breast, creating goosebumps in its wake.

A smile touched the corner of his lips. He knew full well what he was doing to her, and she almost convulsed as he dragged his nail across her nipple, and down the seam of her stomach.

“Jamie.” She shivered, as all the muscles below her waist clenched at his touch. God help her, they’d only just begun and he was already driving her crazy.

“These too.”

She blinked up at him, holding his warm blue eyes with hers and nodded slightly. She hadn’t expected this, and it was risky, but she wouldn’t stop him. She was his wife, and if he wanted to look at her, she had no objection.

He hooked his thumbs into the lace at her hips, and she held her breath as he crouched, and eased her knickers over her arse, and down her legs. He was _right there_ and she was completely exposed, but she just didn’t care.

She was so turned on by his show of possession, that he could have done just about anything, and she’d have agreed.

Gripping his shoulders for balance, she lifted one foot and then the other, and slowly stepped out of her underwear. He looked up at her, his dark, hooded eyes making her tremble, before he placed the lace carefully to one side, grabbed the rag, and tossed it into the fire.

Not bothered by it in the slightest.

“Ah, God Claire.” He moaned, as he gripped her ankles and ran his hands slowly up the back of her legs.

She could almost feel his blazing eyes scorching her skin, as they followed the path of his hands, until he reached her arse and squeezed it roughly in his grasp. She squealed in suprised and almost stumbled against him, as he pulled her closer and pressed his lips just above the line of her sparse pubic hair.

“Ye divine, mo ciad-bhean.” He whispered against her skin making her heart jump and her breath stuttered in her chest. She had to tightened her hold on him to keep herself from falling, when he moved lower and gently kissed her clitoris.

“Jamie.”

“Ssh.” He hushed her as he stood, scooped her up into his arms, and made his way over to the bed. “I canna love ye like I want to, lass, but what we can do, I plan to make the most of. An’ I think yer of the same mind.” He breathed as he grabbed the towel she’d brought and threw it onto the bed.

She flushed, embarrassed that he’d seen it, but held his eyes and nodded as he lay her carefully in the centre of the bead. With her head resting on the pillows, and her body displayed before him, he learnt over and pressed his lips lightly to hers.

“I want to feel every inch of ye skin next to mine.” He whispered as he ran a fingers gently down the length of her thigh. “I want to watch it flush as ye find ye pleasure. To have ye muscles clench around my fingers, and feel ye wee hand wrapped tight around my cock.”

“Shit.” She breathed, shivering as her whole body erupted in goosebumps. The room was warm, but she trembled uncontrollably, and she was desperate to feel his arms around her. To anchor her to this time and place before she lost herself completely.

But he moved away, stood at the side of the bed, and slowly reached for the buckle of his belt. She’d seen him naked before, but it was a fleeting glance, and as he dropped his kilt to the floor, she got her first good look at him in all his glory.

There were just no words for how magnificent he really was. He was tall and broad, with golden sun kissed skin, and muscles covering every inch of his body. His stomach was toned and flat, his thighs, like his arms, were powerful and strong, and his cock…God help her…his cock was long, thick and terrifying.  
  
As he turned to grab something off the table, she shakily raised her hips and arranged the towel beneath her. She hadn’t planned on being completely naked, she thought she’d keep her knickers on to help them resist temptation. But now she was, she was grateful that she’d thought to bring it, beacuse from the sounds of things, they’d need it.

She shivered again, and reached for him as he climbed onto the bed and stretched himself out beside her. He was so beautiful, so perfect, that she could hardly believe he was hers. Her husband, her lover, her soulmate. But he was, and as he rolled her onto her side to face him, she had to fight to hold back her tears.

“Yer tremblin’, lass.” He crooned, as he pulled her against him, and wrapped her tightly in his embrace.

“I can’t help it.”

“Ye ken, i’v realises somethin’s missing.” He whispered, taking her hand and kissing it, before laying it gently over his heart.

“What?”

“This.” He murmured unfolding his hand and producing a beautiful sliver ring. The thought of a ring had never entered her mind, and she gasped in suprise, and pulled back so she could see it properly.

The sides were cut away, creating the delicate outline of soft Scottish thistles, and the patten rose along the setting to a perfect round amethyst at the centre. It was so gorgeous, so unique, that she’d never seen anything like it.

“Yer my wife, yer should be wearin’ my ring.”

“Jamie, it’s so beautiful.” She whispered, as he took her left hand in his and slid it carefully onto her ring finger. It fit perfectly and the stone glistened in the soft candle light as she reached over and touched his face. “Thank you.”

“Yer welcome.” He smiled softly as he ran his hand gently up her arm, around her shoulder, and down her back, where it found its favourite place on her arse. “Do ye ken how much I love ye?” He whispered as he pulled her closer.

“As much as I love you.”

“Ah, Claire.” He groaned quietly as he tilted her head and captured her lips in a soft gentle kiss. It was so slow, so sweet, and all consuming, that she could feel it’s warmth spread right through her body, to the very centre of her soul.

Her fingers found their way up into his hair and she dissolved completely in his arms, as he wrapped them tightly around her, and pulled her trembling body flush against him. Tiny sparks of electricity shot across her skin as it made contact with his, and she came alive with a quiet hum of desire.

Their kiss deepened, turning hungry and desperate as his hands roamed across her body, lighting her up from the inside, and making her mewl and writh with unrestrained pleasure. Slowly, gently he moved them around her arse, along her waist, and over her ribs, until she arched against him, encouraging him on to her breast.

Her hands tightened in his hair, and as his tongue twisted and danced passionately with hers, his fingers rolled and pinched her nipple. Teasing. Pulling. Stoking. Over and over. Driving her to the brink of madness, before he cupped her breast and massaged it firmly in his rough, strong hands.

“Jamie.” She panted, throwing her head back as his lips moved from hers, across her cheek, to her neck and around to her ear. He bit down on it lightly, and tugged sharply on her nipple, making her convulse in his arms and thrust her hips against his, searching for friction.

They were tempting fate enough being naked together, so as much as she wanted to throw her leg over his and grind herself against his cock, she couldn’t. She was so aroused that she’d sure he’d slip right in.

“Please.” She begged helplessly, as he moved lower, and his mouth and teeth found the nipple that his fingers weren’t torturing. “Shit.”

“Ah, Christ.” He groaned against her skin, as he pushed his weeping cock against her stomach, flexing and rolling his hips, as his fingers traced lower and came to rest against her sex. “I want ye.”

_Jesus fucking Christ._

She wanted him too.

More than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. More then air or water or chocolate.

She mewled quietly and parted her legs, making room for his hand, as he slipped a finger down to her opening and gently eased it inside. Her own hands weren’t still, they roamed along his back, around his firm arse and back up, again and again. But as she ground down against his hand, whimpering in pleasure, she moved it lower and wrapped her fingers around his cock.

His breath stuttered in his throat, and he bit down hard against her nipple, making her cry out, as she pumped him firmly. His movements encouraged hers as he thrust his finger in time with his hips, and she moved along the length of him. Twisting her hand at the head, and spreading his pre-come down along his shaft.

The heel of his hand was grinding against her clitoris, driving her closer and closer to the edge as his finger brushed against her g-spot. He didn’t even know it even existed, but Jesus Christ he’d found it, and as he massaged it firmly she could see black spots and stars behind her eyelids.

“I’m gonna come.” She whimpered as her toes curled and she arched towards him, thrusting her breast further into his mouth. Her hand moved faster, pumped him harder, and his deep low groan spread lightening through her core and she exploded into a million pieces in his capable hands.

“Oh, fuck…Jamie.” She cried out, as a tidal wave of pleasure rushed through her body, going on and on and on as she pulsed around his finger.

“Sweet, Jesus!” He hissed, removing his hand, and rolling her quickly onto her back. “God forgive me…I canna…” He begged helplessly as he parted her legs and slid his long, hot body between them. “I need to feel ye.”

His cock was right there, gliding smoothly against her sex as he rolled his hips and surrounded her with the weight of his body. One arm hooked under her shoulder, and the other slipped between them, to wrap around his cock and position it at her entrance.

“Jamie wait…please…please wait.” She begged, stilling his hand and freezing him in place. Her heart was going a mile a minute, and she was still lost in the fog of her own orgasm, but she couldn’t let him do something he might regret.

“Have I hurt ye?” He gasped breathlessly, his beautiful blue eyes swirling with worry and lust as they locked on hers.

“No, no.” She whispered, shaking her head as her hands came up to cup his handsome face. “I want you, so much, but you have to be sure this is what you want. It will break my heart if your regret it.”

His eyes softened and as his hand moved to her arse, he lent down and pressed his lips softly to hers.

“I could never regret lovin’ ye, mo gràdhag.” He whispered as he slowly rolled his hips and eased the tip inside. She tensed at the intrusion, and saw her own pain reflected in his eyes, as he pulled back, and pushed further inside her.

He thrust again and again, going deeper and deeper with each gentle movement, never once breaking eye contact as she surrendered her body to his. As much as she tried to, she couldn’t hide her wince as her hymen tore and her muscles stretched to accommodate him.

“I’m sorry.” He breathed as he pulled her closer, held her tighter. “Just keep still, I promise it’ll be over soon, mo gràdhag.”

Her heart shattered for him and she almost burst into tears. He had such a gentle soul, and she could see in his eyes how much he wanted this, needed it, and hated it just the same. What had he suffered that made him dread a moment that should be filled with nothing but love and pleasure?

Tenderly, she wrapped her arms under his, and gripped on to his shoulders, holding him as tightly as he was her. Yes, he was big, and it hurt, but it wouldn’t last, and there was no way she was letting him think she didn’t want this as much as he did.

Or that she was suddenly scared of him and hated his possession of her body.

“It better not be.” She whispered as she wrapped her legs around his waist, and rolled her hips up against him.

His eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat, as he gazed down at her in astonishment. She smiled up at him and threaded her fingers in his hair to pull him down for a deep, intoxicating kiss. “Now, make love to me, husband.” She panted as she pulled back and scraped her nails along his scalp.

“Ah, Claire.” He nearly wept as he shifted his weight and thrust in firmly, all the way to the hilt.

_Jesus Christ that fucking hurt!_

He was so big that pain lanced through her core, and she almost bit though her lip to hold in a cry, as she arched up against him. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m okay.” She promised quietly, as she moved against him and lowered her hands to his arse, encouraging him to move. “Don’t stop.”

She needed him as desperately as he needed her, and despite the pain, she rose up to meet him again and again and again. It was both heaven and hell, as he thrust into her, rolling his hips and losing himself within her.

They never looked away, never closed their eyes. They were simply lost in the moment together, whispering soft words of love, as they shared their bodies and exchanged their souls.

They let the passion take them over. To guide their bodies as their lips met and he moved within her, wrapped in her embrace. He was so big, she could feeling him pushing up against her cervix with every advance, and each time he did, lightening shot through her core, sending her lightheaded and dizzy with bliss.

It hurt, God did it hurt, but she didn’t care. She was right there with him. Raising and falling with his body, touching him, kissing him, losing herself completely as he gripped her arse tightly, and groaned with each careful thrust.

“More, please, Jamie, God please more.” She begged as her nails dug into his flesh and she arched up against him. Through the pain she could feel the tell tale signs of a deep burning pleasure, that promised to send her flying into space, and she chased it, gripping onto it as tight as she did him.

“God, Claire, ye slay me.” He moaned as his thrusts became harder and faster, until his hips were slamming against hers, and he was forcing her small body down into the bed. She cried out with each powerful movement and clung to him, holding his arms, and his eyes as he ploughed into her, fucking her into oblivion.

“Yes…yes! Oh shit, don’t stop…please…I’m gonna…”

“Jesus Lord, I canna…Christ, Claire…I need to…” He groaned as he push up into her, grinding against her clitoris, thrusting against her g-spot, and sending her hurtling over the edge. His body jerked above her, and as her muscles clenched and spasmed around him, he shuddered and came deep inside her with a harsh cry of rough, carnal pleasure.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All warnings still in place :0)

_Holy mother of God._

Heart pounding and limbs shaking, he collapsed sideways onto the bed, gripping Claire arse and pulling her with him. Her inner muscles were still clenching and quivering around him, making his cock twitch and his body tremble with the aftershocks of his release. Christ alive, he’d never felt pleasure like it, and just the thought of leaving her warm, wet, welcoming body made him want to weep in despair.

“Are ye well, mo gràdhag?” He panted as he threaded his arms around her and pulled her hot, sweaty body as close to his as he could. She was as breathless as he was, and her leg visibly trembled as she hooked it around his, keeping him locked deep inside her.

“Well?” She breathed, shakily as she burrowed into his chest and touched her lips against his hammering heart. “I’m euphoric.”  

“Aye, so am I.” He laughed, kissing her hair and pulling her closer.

He’d never imagined that taking a woman could be as exquisite as it had been with Claire. They’d been one heart, one soul, joined in more than just body, and for the first time in his life, he’d lost himself completely. With her gentle encouragement, and soft words of love, he’d let his mind go free, and allowed his pleasure to out-weight his fears.  

He’d already been teetering on the brink, tempted to have her regardless of the consequences. Since that moment in her rooms at Leoch, he’d been neigh on desperate to take her, to pummel her depths and claim her as his own. He’d needed her like air, and it had only been his fears, new and old, that had stopped him at the lake.

But then his beautiful wife had asked him to make love to her and he’d refused. He’d let his fears come between them once again, and the disappointment in her eyes had cut him to the core. But like always, she’d accepted his limitations, and done what she could to reassure him despite her own sorrow. Yet, he’d still let his past rule his present, and Claire had been paying the price for a woman long dead.  

Though still shrouded in guilt for his own carnal needs, in the end, when she’d fallen apart in his arms, he’d been powerless to deny them what they so badly needed.

And he couldn’t regret it.

She’d been right there with him. Rising and falling in time with his thrust, calling his name breathlessly, and crying out in pleasure. He’d hurt her, of that he had no doubt. He’d seen it in her eyes. But while that knowledge pained him, he couldn’t regret that either, because through that pain, she’d become his.

And she’d _enjoyed_ it.

The deep, wild love that they’d made had pleasured her as much as it had him.  

Just the remembrance of her tight clenching muscles, and her desperate cry of exaltation, had new sparks of lightening striking deep in his stomach. His hips jerked against hers, and she gasped, spasming around his softened cock.  

“Jesus, Claire.” He groaned, as he gripped her hair and pulled her head back. She looked up at him, her swollen lips parted, and her eyes hooded and wonton with desire. “I canna get enough of ye.” He growled as he claimed her lips and thrust further into her depths.  

She whimpered, and tensed in his arms, and he froze.

“It’s okay.” She whispered against his lips, attempting to reignite the flames, as she rolled her hips against him. But his hand clamped down on her arse, stilling her movements, and he pulled back to look down at her.

“Nay, t’is not…”

“I’m fine.”

“No, Claire, ye not.” He insisted pulling her head further back. “Christ, I can tell well enough that ye in pain.”

“Jamie…”

“Hush.” He ordered gently, as he moved his hips and slipped out of her. She winced, and he raised an eyebrow as he moved his hand up to cup her face. “Ye hurtin’ an’ ye dinna need to hide it because ye fear my reaction. I was there with ye, Claire. I saw ye pleasure. Hell, lass, I felt it. So I canna doubt that ye enjoyed it.” He whispered as he brushed a lock of hair off her face.

“I’m sorry.”

“Shh, ye’v nothin’ to be sorry for. This is my fault, t’is I who’s sorry. I’v let my past control our future, an’ I shouldna have. But I was afraid.” He admitted, as he lent to gently kiss her forehead. “Afraid of hurtin’ ye, afraid of losing ye, and afraid of ye fearin’ _me_.  

“I shoulda trusted ye. What’s between us is different. Yer different, an’ I’m different with ye. But by being afraid, I _have_ made ye fear me.”

“I’m not afraid of you.” She protested vehemently.

“Aye, ye are.”

“I’m not…”

“Claire, ye constantly fearin’ my reaction.” He argued. “Ye worried that one wrong move will send me runnin’. Ye wouldna told me of the blood oath if ye didna have to, an even when ye did, ye took the responsibility for _my_ actions. Then, although ye wanted it yerself, ye tried to stop me from takin ye because ye feared I’d regret it. An’ now that I have, ye hiding ye pain because ye fear my response.

“It canna go on, Sassenach. Ye’v made me happier than I’v ever been in my life. Ye my wife an’ I want to spend my life lovin ye an’ raisin’ a family with ye. So no more fears. We’re in this life together, an’ I willna continue let my past create a chasm between us.”

“You’re right, but I’m not blameless, Jamie. I should have trusted you as well, and I’m sorry.” She whispered, as she ran her hand across his shoulder and up into his hair. “I love you.”

“As I love ye.” He smiled, “Now, tell me. Are ye in pain?”

“A bit…okay a lot.” She amended, blushing, when he raised his eyebrow again. “You _are_ bigger than average, you know, and for a first time, that’s a lot to take.”

“Aye, I ken.” He smirked flashing her a wink. Men weren’t exactly shy when it came to pissing or bathing, so he’d seen enough cocks to know he was well endowed.

“Cocky bastard.” She laughed, slapping his arm. “You weren’t exactly gentle either.”

“An’ who’s fault is that? I seem to remember ye beggin’ for more.”

“Yeah, I’m a regular Oliver Twist.”

“Who?”

“What? Oh my God!” She gasped sitting up and wincing as she stared down at him wide eyed... and naked. “Oliver Twist hasn’t even been written yet! Or Great Expectations, or Pride and Prejudice, or Dracula…Christ, I could make us a fortune, I’v got some of them on my phone! I should totally rewrite the Harry Potter books...”

“Are ye really talkin about _books_ , when ye lyin’ naked in my bed?” He growled, grabbing her waist and dragging her back down. “With ye breast right there beggin’ to be…”

“Yes…and…oh...” She squeaked when he lent down and bit her nipple. “Ah…Jamie.”

“Aye, that’s more like it.” He murmured against her skin, before soothing the stink with his tongue. “Now tell me…ye reached yer pleasure _twice_. One straight after the other.”

“That’s not a question.” She smirked, tilting her head back as his fingers replaced his lips on her breast.

“How?” He clarified, pinching her nipple, and almost feeling her gasp in his awakening cock. “The ache of wantin ye hasna left me, an’ I could take ye again _now_. But if I’d reached my pleasure in ye hand, like ye did mine, I couldna have taken ye _then_.”

“Call it an unfair advantage.” She moaned, as he twisted and pulled at her pebbled flesh. “Woman don’t need…ah, God, Jamie…we don’t need recovery time…Jesus ah…”

“What _do_ ye need, lass?”

“For you to stop teasing and to make me come.”

“Come where?”

“Nowhere…Christ…make me come, it means make me orgasm…to make me find my pleasure.” She explained haltingly as she writhed on the bed beside him.  

“Mmm.” He hummed storing that away for further use, as he twisted her nipple again.“Ye like this?”  

“God yes! Don’t you?”

“I dinna ken.” He shrugged as he let his fingers begin a slow trail down her stomach. Nobody had ever touched him like Claire did, he’d never felt a woman’s embrace as he took her.  

Annalise had lain like the dead, with her hands and legs flat on the bed, clutching the sheets and screwing her eyes closed.  

She’d never been a part of it with him.  

Not like Claire had.

“Then we’ll have to find out.” She whispered, sobering slightly at his admission.  

“Aye, I suppose we will.”

He smiled at her, then looked down to follow the path his fingers were taking. But as he got to her naval he stopped and slowly drew them back up her body.

_Shit._

It was no wonder she was in pain.

There was blood, and a fair amount of it, on her inner thighs and hip where his hand had held her. It was on his legs too, as well as his hardened cock, and around the edges of his nail.

She’d warned him that, with her courses, making love in the bed would be messy, and he truly wasn’t bothered by the sight. He’d seen enough blood in his time to be immune to it. But that didn’t make the sight any less alarming.  

The fact that his cock looked like it had been massacred, was bad enough. But to see so much blood coming from his wife was horrifying.  

He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath before leaning down to kiss her lips tenderly. She’d explained this to him, told him the whole process of a woman’s cycle. Of how and why a woman bled for five days and didn’t die.  

And he’d promised her, not ten minutes ago, that he would let go of his fears, and he would.  

It was perfectly normal, he reminded himself. Natural even, and he wouldn’t be alarmed by it. It was just her body’s way of expelling what she didn’t need, and preparing her to receive his seed. If she didn’t bleed again in twenty eight days, it meant she was carrying his bairn.  

She wrapped her arms around him, deepening the kiss, and he let her, as he reached blindly onto the bedside table and retrieved the wet rag. It was cold, but it would have to do until he could get her in the bathtub.  

He placed it between her legs, shushing her, and moving his lips to her neck, when she startled.

“Let me take care of ye.” He whispered against her throat as he gently cleansed her skin and the apex of her thighs.  

“You didn’t have to…”

“I know. I want to,” He breathed, as he lifted his head to look down at her. Almost losing himself a over again in her whiskey eyes. “You’re my wife, Claire, t’is my job, and my privilege to care of ye. When ye ready, there’s a bath waitin’ for ye…”

“How?”  

“I told the lasses to draw it for ye while ye were changin’.”

“You dear, sweet man.” She whispered, her eyes glistening with tears as she reached up and cupped his face. “Thank you, so much.”

“Ye welcome.” He smiled, before looking away to clean off her hip and to drag the rag over himself.

“Will you join me?”  

“In the bathtub?”

“Yes.”

“Aye, if you’ll have me.”

 

After giving strict instructions that she wasn’t to move from his bed. Jamie made his way towards her dressing room, and knocked once on the door to ensure the lasses has left. With no sign of life, he depressed the latch and walked in.  

It was warm, maybe too warm, with the roaring fire and the billows of rose scented steam rising from the water. But it was perfect, Maggie had done exactly as he’d asked.  

He’d not bathed in a tub with anyone since he was a wee lad and had to share the water with Willie. But he’d been intrigued by Claire’s suggestion, and having expected a relatively chaste wedding night, he’d wanted to do what he could to make it special for her.

And he knew well how much she loved the water.

The shutters had been drawn for privacy, making the room cosy with naught but the light from the fire, and the few candles that had been left lit on the walls. As requested, a decanter of wine and two glasses, sat on a small round table next to the tub, and he smiled when he saw them.

Maggie was discreet, but that simple request was bound to have tongues wagging below stairs. His request for daily baths had caused a few raised eyebrows, but now they knew he would be sharing them with his wife, and thescandal would have them entertained for months.

He laughed, not in the slightest bit bothered. He loved his wife, and he wasn’t ashamed of it. His people would know that well soon enough.  

Satisfied that the water wasn’t too hot, and all was as it should be. He flipped the lock on the servants door, and returned to retrieve his bride.  

“Ah, so ye _can_ do as ye told.” He smiled as he made his way over to the bed and scooped her up into his arms. She came willingly, with a soft sigh as she laid her head against his chest.

“On occasion.”  

“When it suits ye, ye mean.” He laughed kissing her forehead.

“Mmm.”

“Ah, Sassenach.” He sighed, as he stood her by the bathtub and pulled her naked body against his. She looked up at him, her eyes warm and her smile soft, and he couldn’t resist leaning down to kiss her lips. “What ye do to me.”

“I can _feel_ what I do to you.” She murmured, trailing her hand slowly down his chest and stomach until she brought it to rest over his cock. It twitched in her hand, and she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking him softly as she awakened his desire.  

“I beg of ye, lass.” He groaned, digging his fingers into the flesh of her arse. “Dinna start what ye canna finish, I’v only so much restraint, an’ I dinna want to hurt ye.”

“Who says I can’t finish?” She winked, as she released his cock and stepped out of his arms.  

“Ye dinna seem to be finishing anythin’.” he complained, trying to grab her hand back as he gestured to his weeping cock. It was nigh on painful, his need for her to keep touching him, but seeming oblivious, she simply smiled and turned to dip a rag into the water. “Claire...”

“I’ve not even started yet, My Lord.” She all but purred, the sudden huskiness to her voice making him shiver with need, as she dropped to her knees before him.

“What are ye doin?”

“Cleaning you up.” She whispered, licking her lips, and drawing the warm wet cloth up the inside of his thigh.

_Dear God above._

She was trying to kill him. She kept her dark, hooded eyes locked on him, gazing up at him through her long eyelashes, as she folded the rag over his cock. His hips jerked, and a low groan built it his throat and brushed past his parted lips. It wasn’t the wet heat he wanted to feel, but Jesus Lord it felt good.  

She took her time, cleaning him throughly, and driving him half insane. When she gently eased back the skin, and wiped the cloth around the bulging head, he couldn’t take any more. His bollocks were aching, and if she didn’t stop he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.  

“Enough.” He growled, stilling her hand as his heart pounded erratically somewhere near his throat. “I canna take much more, lass.” Her lips twitched and she dropped the rag before wrapping her wee hand around the shaft. “Claire…”

“Sshh.” She breathed, as she rose higher on her knees, bringing her eye level with his cock. “It’s my turn to take care of you.”  

He was seconds away from forcing her to stop, or begging to lie back and spread her legs. His mind was so clouded in lust that he didn’t know which, but before he could decide, she moved forward and ran her tongue along the length of his cock.  

“Claire…what are ye…”

“Ssh.” She murmured again before wrapping her lips around the weeping head and drawing him into her mouth.  

“Jesus Christ.” He cried as lightening shot through the base of his spine, jerking his hips and making his whole body erupt in goosebumps. “Claire…lass…shit.”

She hummed around him as she worked her hand in time with her mouth. Sucking, pulling and twisting over and over as she massaged his length with her tongue, and danced it around the head. He was blinding by stars, and too overcome with awe and pleasure, to even think about stopping her.  

He’d never felt anything like it in his life, he was in mind numbing bliss, and without though, his hand went to the back of her head and he buried his fingers into her hair. He could feel her sharp nails digging into the flesh of his arse as she pulled him towards her, encouraging him to move.  

With what sanity he had left, he tensed his muscles, locking himself in place, least he thrust forward and hurt her. But she growled, her dark eyes hungry and begging, as she scrapped her teeth along his cock, and he was lost.  

His hips shot forward, pushing his cock further into her mouth, making her moan and her stretched pink lips to tighten around him. He gripped her hair harder and thrust against her, again and again going deeper and deeper with each shallow movement.  

He was in heaven, with white hot flames burning under his skin, tightening his balls and pulling him closer and closer to the inferno. He wanted to close his eyes, to throw his head back and roar with pleasure, but he just could not take them off _her_.  

She looked sublime, and the utter bliss and triumph in her eyes, was only fueling his need.

She moved her hand and placed it with her other on his arse, helping him move until the tip of his cock was thrusting against the back of her throat. Her muscles contracted, gripping his cock so tightly that he cried out and pushed in further, making her gag.

“Christ…I’m sorry.” He panted, pulling back until his cock slipped out of her mouth.

“No.” She begged, wrapping her hand around it again, and pumping it firmly as she drew him back towards her lips. “You have no idea how…God Jamie…I want you too…please do it.”

“Lord God, lass. Ye slay me.” He groaned pushing back in though her parted lips, all the way to the back of her throat. She gaged again but her eyes begged him not to stop, so he tightened his grip and thrust forward.  

He’d already been so close to to edge, but as she swallowed and moaned, licked and sucked at the thick shaft of his throbbing cock, he lost all control. His balls pulled up, and his movement turned jerky and rapid. He was close, so very close.  

“God, Claire…I canna stop…” He cried thrusting in as deep as he could. All his muscles contracted, and he groaned long and low as he twitched and released his seed down the back of her throat. “Argh Christ!”

She swallowed around him, over and over, taking everything he’d given her, before slowly slipping his cock out of her mouth.  

They were both breathless and panting, with their hearts pumping wildly and their eye locked. He fell down to his knees before her, and pulled her shaking body into his arms.

“I’ve never…Lord I thought my heart would burst.” He panted, as he kissed her head and ran his hands smoothly up and down her back. “Are ye well? I dinna hurt ye?”

“No, you didn’t hurt me.” She promised as she wrapped her own arms around him. “That was the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Aye. I canna argue with ye there.” He laughed, kissing her again and moving back sightly to look down at her. “Now come, lass. Before the water gets cold.”


	24. Chapter 24

Unable to speak, for fear of what would come out of her mouth, Claire sat ramrod straight in her chair, a false smile locked on her lips, and her hands clenched tightly around the tea cup in her lap. She was trying her hardest to make Jamie proud, to not embarrass him on their first full day as husband and wife. Reminding herself constantly that it would be unseemly for the new Lady to drag the Lords pregnant sister outside by her hair and kick the shit out of her.

But she was balancing precariously on a knifes edge. The conniving, manipulative, underhanded bitch had gone too far, and God help her when Claire got her alone. There was clearly nothing this woman wouldn’t do to get what she wanted, and what she obviously wanted was her new sister-in-law gone.

_Fat chance, bitch!_

“…an’ when young John pushed ye in the lake! Ach, I though our Jamie would pummel him.” Jenny laughed, wiping a tear from her eye, as she looked between Jamie and the lanky little whore sat next to him. “The look on ye face, brother. Ye were so in love. I kent well, even then, that ye’d be good…aye weel ye kent what I thought.” She huffed, flicking her eyes to Claire when Ian cleared his throat.

“How could we no, ye told us often enough.” Mary giggled, as she gazed up at Jamie like he’d hung the fucking moon. Her hand stretched out to touch his arm, and it was like a red rag to a bull. “That was the first time ye kissed me, Jamie Fraser.”

_Oh no she fucking didn’t!_

Claire’s eyes snapped to Jamie’s, knowing that she’d find an ally. But he wasn’t looking at her, he was looking down at the hand still resting on his arm, and the sight turned her stomach.

It had been clear, from the moment they’d entered the room, that Jamie was as shocked by Jenny’s display as she was. He’d been worried about Claire that morning, she was in pain and bleeding heavily, and he’d wanted to spend the day locked in their rooms.

But she needed to move about. She couldn’t keep popping pills for every little ache and pain, they wouldn’t last five minutes, and walking always helped. So they’d planned to have a walk about the estate. She wanted to see some of his favourite places and he’d promised to show her.

But as they’d entered the parlour, those plans had gone to shit, when Jenny insisted that they join her and her little entourage.

Despite the arse whooping she’d obviously received, and Ian’s warning glances, she’d sat them as far away from each other as she could, and practically turned her back on Claire as she held court with her _friends._

She knew it was only the subtle shake of her head, and his ingrained politeness, that had kept Jamie from losing it completely. But from the look in his eyes, even she wouldn’t be able to stop him now.

Not that she was inclined to.

“No to offend ye, Mary.” He responded, as he deliberately lifted her hand, and removed it from his arm. “But I was a wee lad of nine or ten. I didna ken what I was about.”

“Maybe so, but ye kent well enough at sixteen, if I recall.” She murmured attempting to sound coy, as she all but thrust her breasts in his face.

“Aye, I did. So, perhaps ye should ask yerself why it didna happen again.”

Trying not to choke in the tea she’d just swallowed, Claire carefully placed her cup on the table, and looked back up at Jamie. He _winked_ at her and she bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing.

“An’ ye, Mistress Beauchamp. When was yer first kiss?” Mary asked, sparking her ire anew. “I’m sure there’s been a few.”

_That’s Lady Lorne to you!_

_Whore!_

“Not so many as you would assume. But regardless, the only one to hold any significance was my _last_ first kiss and that was eight days, fourteen hours and…” she looked up to check the clock on the wall and attempted to quickly do the maths, but Jamie beat her to it.

“…Eleven minutes ago, mo gràdhag.”

“And just how would you know that, My Lord?”

“Because _yer_ first significant kiss happens to coincide perfectly with my own, Milady.” He murmured, as his tongue peaked out, and he slowly licked his lips.

There was a sudden, erotic huskiness to his voice, and the deep, rough timbre brought with it a wave of memories from the night before. She shivered in response, and dropped a hand to her tender, somersaulting stomach.

They’d only made love once, but he’d been far from gentle, and she could still feel the ache of his deep, grinding penetration down low at the entrance to her womb.

Call her a masochist, but the discomfort only heightened her arousal. It was as though she could still feel him inside her, as though he was still there, taking her virginity, making her his wife.

“Is that so?” She swallowed, as every other person in the room slowly disappeared. It was just him and her, alone, lost in their shared memories, and desperate to create more.

“Aye.”

“There’s a lass sat beside ye, an three bairns in the kirk yard that say that’s no true, brother.” Jenny huffed, making Mary laugh, and ploughing a sledge hammer straight through Claire chest.

She blinked, stunned into absolute silence, by the outright brutality of his sisters words. She was a spiteful, nasty, hateful little cow, and Claire had had enough.

She was done being polite. She no longer cared who was here, she didn’t give a shit if they judged her or slandered her character. All she cared about was Jamie, and she’d seen him flayed wide open one too many times.

His wounded eyes turned to Jenny, but before he could draw breath enough to speak, Claire slowly pushed to her feet.

“I thank you for your visit, ladies, but I think it’s time for you to leave.” She forced out as her eyes moved from one woman to the next. There were two others besides Mary, and having hardly spoken, they’d done nothing to earn her wrath.

But right now, she simply didn’t care.

“I dinna think…”

“I don’t care _what_ you think, Mary, and I don’t recall asking for your opinion. So take your hand _off_ my husband and leave my home.” She ordered calmly, her hard eyes zeroing in on the hand that had found its way back onto Jamie’s arm.

“This isna yer home, ye’v no right to order away _my_ guests.” Jenny spat viscously as she clambered to her feet and shook off Ian’s restraining arm.

“I’m giving you _one_ chance to do this with dignity and grace, Janet Murray. So, I suggest you take it, because you won’t get a second.” She warned quietly as Jamie rose to his feet and crossed the room to stand behind her. His large hands came to rest on her shoulders, in what she hoped was a silent show of support, rather then restraint.

She was seething, and if he tried to stop her she was likely to hit something.

Most likely his sister.

“Ye heard my wife.”

“Jamie…”

“Allow me to see ye ladies out.” Ian offered, as he held out his arm and quickly ushered the gaping women towards to door.

She had no doubt that the news of the families discord would be spread far and wide before lunch, but she wouldn’t shoulder the blame for that. These women weren’t stupid. Jenny had made it perfectly clear that she didn’t like Claire, and that she’d rather Jamie be with someone else.

Preferably one of her minions.

Just why that was, she didn’t know, but the door had barely closed behind them when Jenny whirled on her. Her hands clenched and her livid face a startling shade of red.

“Don’t!” Claire warned dangerously as she shrugged out of Jamie’s hold and squared up to his fuming sister. “You’ve had your say. We’re all perfectly aware of your opinion, and now you’re going to hear mine.”

“I willna listen to anythin’ ye have to say. Ye naught but a child, and ye willna be around long enough for your opinion to matter.”

“I may be young, Jenny but don’t for one minute confuse my youth for naïvety, or my silence for weakness. I held my tongue yesterday because it was the right thing to do. Jamie deserved to have his say, and it was _his_ place to deal with you as he saw fit. But like a spoilt child you’re clearly beyond reason…

“Ye’v no right to speak to me that way…”

“I have _every_ right!” She growled taking a step closer. “I’ve stood by and listened as you’ve thrown one vicious slur after another towards my husband, and I’m warning you now, if I hear _one_ more, I’ll pack your fucking bags myself.

“Ye wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me!” She spat, clenching her fists. “Jamie’s done nothing to earn your resentment. He loves his children dearly, and he’s suffered more pain and loss than the rest of us combined. Yet, you shove their deaths down his throat at every chance you get!

“That’s cruelty at its finest and I won’t stand for it.” She yelled moving closer still. “Like it or not I _am_ married to your brother, and I _am_ Mistress of Lallybroch. So, if you expect to keep living in _our_ home, then you will show my husband the respect he damn well deserves!”

Jesus Christ, she’d never been so angry in her life. She was so furious that she was physically shaking, and she could hear the thunderous beat of her heart, pounding in her ears. She was mere inches away from Jenny, and just seconds away from slapping the contemptuous look off her annoying face. It was only her pregnancy that stayed her hand.

She’d hoped that it wouldn’t come to this. Yes, she wanted to give Jenny a piece of her mind, but not like this. Claire had wrongly presumed that after talking to Ian, and having a day to calm down, that she would have been a little more reasonable. But the stubborn set of her jaw, and the cold hard look in her eyes, told her all she needed to know. She’d dug her heels in, and there was no turning back.

“Yer no welcome here, ye Sassenach bitch.” Jenny spat, squaring her shoulders. “Ye’v absolutely no right to swan around _my_ house, wearing my _mother’s_ clothes, an’ my _grandmothers_ ring, an tellin’ me how to behave.

“If ye think for one minute, that ye farce of a weddin’ makes ye a lady, or mistress of this estate, then ye sadly mistaken. _I’m_ the mistress of Lallybroch and I’m no going anywhere!”

“I have no idea what your problem is with me.” Claire shouted back in exasperation. “You don’t even know me. I hadn’t had a chance to even open my mouth before you started spewing your bullshit.

“But you know what? I was coming here to help _you!_ Even when I though that Jamie was still married, and knew it would break my heart to see him with her. His worry and concern for you out weighed my own pain.

“You may think I’m a child, Jenny but I can assure you I am not! Even at twenty two, I’m the most qualified doctor you’ll ever meet in your life, and I would have done _everything_ in my power to see you and your child healthy and well.

“Maybe I’m stupid, but I still would if Jamie and Ian request it of me…”

“I dinna want or need ye help! I can birth my own bairn just fine without it. But with any luck _his_ new bastard will send _ye_ right on to hell after his _last_ whore…”

A resounding slap echoed around the room, and sent a shock wave ricocheting up the length of Claire’s arm. Her palm burned at the point of contact and she clenched it, attempting to ease the sting, as Jamie reached for her and pulled her back against his chest.

The tremors that shook her body, were so violent that Jamie could feel them shaking his own, as she stood tense and fuming in his arms. He knew first hand, the Herculean strength it was taking for her not to further unleash all that hurt, all that anger, and to really let Jenny have it.

Oh, he’d known this battle was coming. As he told Ian yesterday, he knew that Claire wouldn’t let Jenny’s slurs go unanswered. So when he’d seen the fury slowly burning to life in her eyes, he’d sat back and let her blow. She deserved to have her say, as much as he did; maybe more so, after the display Jenny had orchestrated this morning.

But he’d wrongly assumed that it would clear the air, that hearing from Claire herself would ease Jenny’s mind. What he hadn’t realised was just how bitter and twisted his sister had become, or how low she was really willing to go. But he did now, and may God forgive him, if Claire hadn’t have struck her, he would have.

And she wouldn’t still be standing.

He never thought he could hate anyone as much as he did Jenny in this moment.

“As soon as ye fit to travel, you’ll leave this house and ye willna return.” He seethed, glaring at Jenny, his dark eyes oozing every ounce of loathing he felt towards her. “Until then, I suggest ye keep to ye rooms. I dinna want to see or hear from ye again. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.” Ian answered as he moved to Jenny’s side and placed a warning hand on her shoulder. He looked as shocked and disgusted as Jamie felt, and he saw his own thoughts reflected in his eyes.

Through the actions of a spiteful child, both men would be losing their best friend.

“Ye canna throw me out of my own home. Da willna allow it!” Jenny cried, clutching at her cheek, as she attempted to free herself from Ian hold. “Ye canna side wit’ _her_ over ye own blood!”

“Ye no listening to me, Janet!” He growled, tightening his hold on Claire to prevent himself from lunging for his sister. “Lallybroch is _mine_ and Claire is my _wife_! Blood of my blood, bone of my bone! I willna have _anyone_ attack her as ye have done since the moment she arrived.

“If ye’d given her a chance, trusted that I’d learned from my own mistakes, ye could have had a true sister. A sister that’s kind, gentle an’ fiercely loyal.

“But ye’v gone too far, an I want ye out! She’s no carryin’ my bairn just yet, Jenny, but God willin’ she will be soon, and if ought happens to either of them after ye wicked curse, I’ll _never_ forgive ye.” He warned dangerously.“Ye’v made an enemy of me, Janet Murray. Now _get out of my sight!_ ”

Ian took Jenny by the arm and all but dragged her, kicking and screaming from the room. She’d gone stark raving mad, and he would need to have words about her with his father and Ian. But at the moment his biggest concern was Claire.

She was still so angry that she was shaking uncontrollably, and Jamie turned her quickly and enfolded her trembling body in his embrace.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” She stuttered quietly, her words muffled my his plaid. “I should have kept quiet, I’ve made everything worse.”

“Hush, now. Ye’v done no such thing.” He whispered, as he locked his fingers in her hair and held her head against his chest. “Ssh, mo gràdhag.”

He was holding her too tightly, and if he wasn’t careful he’d end up bruising her. But he was so tense, so hurt and angry, that he couldn’t bring himself to let go. After Jenny’s hateful words, he needed the solid reassurance of her presence. He needed to know that she was safe and well.

He could feel his fear of losing her creeping back in, and he was fighting against the hold it was trying to take.

“I willna lose ye.” He murmured, pressing his lips against her hair. “Ye willna leave me.”

She struggled in his grasp, and he loosened his arms just enough for her to look up at him. Her dark, whiskey eyes were swimming with unshed tears, that broke free as she shook her head.

“You’ll never lose me.” She promised, as she reached up and pulled his head down to hers. With a groan he captured her lips in a kiss so deep, so passionate, that it demanded her immediate surrender, and she could do naught but give it to him.

She whimpered and clutched at his hair, trying desperately to find an anchor, as he bowed her supple body against his, and plundered her mouth with his tongue.

Lord God he needed her.

She’d never felt more real, more alive and vital as she had when she’d lay beneath him. Her body quivering, and her muscles clenching his cock, as he buried himself deep inside her. He needed that now. He needed to conquer his reemerging fears. To know that she was here, that she was safe, and that nothing would ever separate them.

Not even him and the love they shared.

Dropping his hands to her arse, he lifted her up against him, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist. She complied quickly, locking her ankles behind him, and grinding down against his aching cock. Holding her tight, he fell to his knees and lay her sprawled on the floor before him.

“I want ye.” He growled against her mouth, biting her lip as he pulled at her skirts and his kilt. He lifted them just enough to free his cock and to reveal her lacy underwear, and the prize that lay within.

“We can’t.” She panted, as she pulled her lips from his. Unperturbed, he moved them down along her neck and chest, lapping and nipping at her skin as his fingers worked quickly to free her breast. One rosy pink nipple peaked out, and he caught it between his teeth, and bit down just hard enough for her to cry out.

“Aye, we can.” He gritted out, ignorant to all but his need and the soft moans of his wanton wife. Although they made love only once the night before, they were as insatiable as each other, and they’d reached their pleasure once more before they slept.

And again this morning.

Him in her mouth, and her by his hand.

Since she’d told him it was possible, he longed to reciprocate, to know the taste of her on his tongue as she did him. But she wouldn’t allow it, not yet while she was bleeding. But he’d claimed her body as his own, and she’d let him take her again now.

She had too.

He might die if she didn’t.

“Someone might come in.”

“I dinna care.” He growled, grabbing his cock and pumping it tightly in his hand. Christ he was so hard it was literally painful. “They’ll leave again quick enough.”

“Jamie, please…”

“Tell me no, Claire.” He groaned, holding himself above her and staring down into her lust filled eyes. “Tell me no. Tell me ye dinna want me, and I willna take ye.”

“God. Of course I want you.” She huffed, gripping his hair so tightly that it hurt. “But we can’t…not here. I was…I am…bleeding a lot so I’m using…God this is mortifying.” she blushed, releasing his hair and covering her face with her hands. “I’m using a sponge.”

“You’re usin’ a sponge?” He frowned, confused. “I dinna take ye meanin’.”

“I…it’s _inside_ me, to collect the blood so we could walk without me making a mess.”

“Excuse me?” He asked wide eyed as he sat back on his knees and stared down at her. “Ye _sponge_? From ye dressing room? _That_ sponge is inside ye?”

“Yes…I sterilised it first…it’s safe.”

“I dinna care _what_ ye did with it first. Take it out!” He snapped, his frustration getting the better of him. He wasn’t really sure why it angered him so much.

But it did.

Just the thought of _anything_ , beside him, inside her had irrational jealousy burning in the pit of his stomach. Especially when it was stopping him from taking her.

“No!”

“Ye’ll do as ye told, lass.”

“Ha!” She cried, as she shuffled back and climbed quickly to her feet. He followed her and grabbed her hand to pull her body against his, locking it at the small of her back when she struggled. “I’ll do no such thing! It’s my body, Jamie, and it’s perfectly normal to use something like this.”

“Ye my wife! Ye body belongs to _me_! So if I tell ye to take it out, you’ll damn well take it out! I willna have _anything_ stopping me from takin what’s mine!”

“You fucking Neanderthal!” She gasped, twisting out of his grasp, and moving quickly behind the couch, out of his reach. “Said in _any_ other way, in _any_ other situation, that sentence could have had me falling at your feet and begging you to take me.

“I won’t lie, Jamie. I find your dominance and possessiveness really fucking arousing. So without the unnecessary anger and nastiness, I would have rushed upstairs, taken it out, and happily let you fuck me six ways till Sunday!

“But you can go fuck yourself if you think I’ll let you take me now!” She yelled as she turned and stormed towards the door.

“Claire, stop!” He shouted, rounding the sofa and chasing after her. “I said stop!”

“I don’t give a shit what you said! It’s ironic isn’t it? That the only thing that’s stopped you from _taking what’s yours_ , is you!”

With that parting blow, she yanked open the door and slammed it behind her. Fuming, Jamie turned and landed his fist against the wall so hard that the painting above shook at the force.

He was so goddamn pissed off!

He was pissed at Jenny, at Claire, at himself and the whole bastard world.

Shaking the pain from his hand, he pulled open the door, and stormed out after her. He wasn’t sure whether he was going to apologise for his behaviour, or to punish her for her insolence. But he didn’t care, he still took the stairs two at a time, and threw open the door to their room.

“Claire!” He roared as he crossed the empty room and pushed open the door to her dressing room. That too was empty, and his frustration bubbled up, and forced its way past his lips in a deep, angry growl.

_Where the hell is she?_

She wasn’t in his dressing room, or the sitting room. He even checked under the bloody bed, and was ready to rush out of the room and continue his search elsewhere. But as he passed by the window, he spotted her crossing the driveway.

Quickly, he turned toward the door, intending to go after her, but stopped short, and instead he walked closer to the window and watched her go with his heart in his throat.

She’d obviously spotted Brimstone over in the pasture, and she was walking that way, head held high and shoulder back. Despite all that had happened that morning, she was a true lady, walking tall, and not letting an ounce of her pain and anger show. He was so proud of her, so in awe of her strength and resilience, that he was suddenly overcome with a deep sense of shame.

Jenny had hurt him. She’d torn at his soul, ripping away what was left of their family. She’d wounded him more than he’d thought was possible, and rather then turning to his wife for comfort, he’d attempted to force himself on her.

He’d wanted to take her, to claim her, to show the world that Jenny was wrong. He would get her with child, and she and the bairn would survive! They had to, he wouldn’t survive if he lost them. He’d wanted to impregnate her there and then, to prove to himself that he was strong enough to master his fears.

When she’d refused him, rather than offer the comfort and understanding he should have, would normally have, he’d turned on her.

She was right.

He _was_ a fucking Neanderthal.

And he had no idea how in the hell he was going to make this right.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to say thank you to everyone thats left a comment for the last few chapters. I'm so sorry that I haven't had a chance to respond, it's been a crazy week, but I promise to get around to it ASAP.

“I’m an idiot.” She sighed as she combed her fingers rhythmically thought the soft hair of Brimstones mane. The huge horse shifted her weight, attempting to nibble at Claire’s shoulder, but otherwise she remained completely impassive to her mistresses confession. Laughing hollowly, Claire closed her eyes and let her head fall against the horses neck.

She had no idea what she was even still doing out here, she should have gone back in ages ago, but she just wasn’t quite ready to face him yet. She needed to get her head on straight before she could deal with his wrath.

She’d rushed out after their fight, half hoping and half dreading, that he would come after her, but there’d been no sign of him, and she had no idea what to think or feel.

Since entering the parlour this morning she’d been drowning in a maelstrom of emotions. Anger, jealousy, amusement, rage, arousal, embarrassment. She’d been pulled in every single direction. So, when he all but threw her onto the floor and demanded she do as she was told, she’d completely lost her shit.

And she shouldn’t have.

He’d been through so much, and not all of it because of Jenny. He was still attempting to overcome his fears. To bury his past and move on into an unknown future with her. But with jenny blowing it back in his face every ten minutes, it was hardly surprising that he was acting like a crazy, possessive fool.

She’d never say that Jamie had been in the right, because to her he hadn’t been. It was her body, and as far as she was concerned he had no say in what she did and didn’t do with it.

But there in lay the problem.

That was _her_ opinion, and while that would be the only thing that mattered in 2018, it didn’t matter at all in 1743.

She could ask any man, woman or child, from here to Lands End, and they’d all tell her the exact same thing. She was Jamie’s wife, and by law she belonged to him, mind, body, and soul. As far as he, and everybody else would be concerned, he had every right to tell her what she could and couldn’t do.

She’d seen it with Jenny, and she’d had no problem with it whatsoever, simply because she felt she’d deserved a good hiding. But turn the tables on _her_ , and the double standards had come pouring out.

She hadn’t been bothered by his rough demand for sex. Jesus, she’d been almost proud of him after his fear the night before. The look in his eyes when he’d promised her it would be over soon, had completed shattered her heart. He’d wanted, needed, to make love to his wife, yet he’d hated himself for it.

But in the parlour he’d had enough faith in their relationship to know that he’d be welcome inside her body. He knew that she’d enjoy it, and she had no doubt that she would have. His possession and coercion had really turned her on, and if she could have, she would have surrender herself to him completely.

She didn’t want him to be always asking her permission. She wanted the spontaneity and the foreplay that came along with it. But she also wanted the comfort of knowing that she could say no at any time.

By law, and by the morals of the people and the time she was in, she had no right to say no. He could take her whenever, wherever, and however he wanted her. She was his wife, legally his property, and there was no such thing as rape in marriage.

There wouldn’t be until the late twentieth century.

But even when he’d been so desperate for her. When he’d been so lost in pain, and had craved the solace of her body, he would have stopped. He’d asked her to say no, and if she’d said it, that would have been it.

It was the reason for her refusal that had shocked him, and he’d lashed out horribly.

By _her_ standers anyway.

But by _his_ , he’d done nothing wrong.

They’d been brought up in different centuries, and had vastly different concepts of what was right and wrong. They both had their own expectations and, while Claire felt that _he_ was the one in the wrong, Jamie would think _she_ was.

It wasn’t a simple case of stubbornness or a petty squabble about who put the rubbish out, and who fed the cat. To make this marriage work they would have to bridge a cultural gab of almost three hundred years, and find a way to compromise.

But like it or not, unless she was going to leave him and attempt to return home, Claire was going to have to accept some hard truths. This wasn’t the twenty first century, and her husband wasn’t a twenty first century man.

He was an eighteenth century highland warrior.

And she honestly didn’t want him any other way.

“Ye tearing’ my heart out, lass.” Jamie whispered, his quiet, unexpected voice making her startle as he crept up behind her. He was stood so close that she could feel the heat radiating off his body, but he didn’t touch her, and she didn’t turn around. “I’v been too scairt to blink, least ye saddle ye horse an’ escape while I’m no lookin’.”

“Do you really think I’d leave you?” She whispered back, as she lifted her head from Brimstone, and stood up straight. She wanted nothing more than to lean back against him, to feel the comfort of his embrace. But until she knew where this was going, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

He sounded calm enough, but it could simply be the quiet before the storm.

“I wouldna blame ye if ye did.” He sighed, “I shouldna have tried to force myself on ye. I wasna thinkin’ clearly.”

She took a deep breath, attempting to steady herself, and clear her mind. She hadn’t expected this. After the way she’d spoken to him, she thought he’d be ready to strip the skin of her arse.

That was the real reason she was still out here. He was so much bigger than her, and if he tried to belt her, she wouldn’t be able to stop him: nor would she be able to forgive him. It could create a huge chasm between them that neither would know how to bridge, and she was scared to death of discovering that their differences were too vast to over come.

They needed to talk, to attempt to find a balance between their expectations, but it was so much easier said than done. She’d come here with at least a basic knowledge of how things worked. She’d read booked, seen movies, and studied history, yet it was still difficult for her to actually understand and accept his mindset, and the limitations that would be put on her.

But Jamie didn’t have that privileged. He had absolutely no idea what it was like to live in the future, and she didn’t know how to explain it to him in a way that he’d understand. Christ even in 2018, there was still a generation of women that had lived, and still did live, under the control of men.

With a deep sigh she turned around to face him. He looked so desolate, so guilt ridden that she almost said _fuck it_ and just fell into his arms. But she couldn’t, because if she did, they’d only end up right back here before too long.

“We need to talk.”

“Aye. But no here, I think the staff have had enough entertainment for one day, an’ I promised ye a walk.” He held out his arm, and after a brief pause, she placed her hand on it and let him lead her away from the pasture.

They were silent as they strolled along the path, each lost in their own thoughts and neither knowing where to begin. They’d talked of so much in the short time they’d known each other, and Claire knew almost everything there was to know about him. But did he really know her?

She wasn’t a big sharer, but she was married now, and if they had a hope in hell of making it work, she would have to start talking.

“I _am_ sorry, Claire.” Jamie breathed, as he guided her to a stone bench, some distance from the house, and helped her sit.

“I know you are, and so am I. I shouldn’t have yelled at you the way I did. But you’re apologising for the wrong thing.”

“No, ye shouldna have.” He agreed as he sat beside her, and took hold of her hand in his. “But that doesna mean that I didna understand why ye did it.” He admitted quietly. “Yet now I’m no so sure, as ye tellin’ me ye were yellin’ for reasons I dinna ken. So, tell me, lass. What _should_ I be apologisin’ for?”

She sighed deeply and stared off blindly into the distance as she attempted to order her thoughts. The note of frustration in his voice had given her fair warning to tread lightly. He was contrite now, but he was like a bear with a sore foot, and it wouldn’t take much to push him back over the edge.

She’d had her first glimpse of his temper, and she really didn’t want it aimed at her full force.

He was an intelligent man, very intelligent, she couldn’t deny that. But he was also a product of his time, and explaining even the basics of women’s rights to him, could be like explaining Einstein’s theory of relativity to a toddler, and she didn’t want to sound like she was patronising him.

Especially when he wasn’t in the best of moods.

“God, this really isn’t easy you know. I’ve been stood out here for over an hour, trying to order my thoughts, but I’m a walking contradiction.” She huffed in annoyance. “Everything I think to say has its own caveat, and I don’t know how to explain myself with confusing you more.”

“Start with why ye were yellin’ at me an’ we’ll go from there.”

“It wasn’t because you wanted to have sex, I think you know deep down, that I wanted it as much as you did, otherwise you wouldn’t have taken it so far.” She reassured him as calmly as she could. “It was because you tried to tell me what I could and couldn’t do with my own body. You practically declared it your own property.”

“There was no practically about it, Claire. Your body _is_ my property, _you_ are my property.” He answered with a shrug, as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

She turned on the bench so he could see her face clearly. He had to know how serious she was about this. Yes, she enjoyed his dominance, but she wasn’t his slave.

“No, Jamie, I’m not.” She explained slowly, clearly, squeezing his hand in hers to attempt to soften the blow. “I’m your wife, I love you and I want to share my body with you, but it’s still mine to do with as I please. I’m still my own person.”

“I ken that ye’v got a mind of ye own, Claire, an’ that ye an intelligent woman. But as ye pointed out, ye my wife, so whether ye like it or no, ye _are_ my property.”

“I know it won’t be easy, but you have to at least try to understand where I’m coming from. I’m trying to see it your way, Jamie, I really am. But I grew up in a time where women aren’t seen as property, and they’re not controlled by men.” She pleaded.

She was hoping to God that he could find a way to meet her in the middle. She had no idea what she would do if he didn’t, and the thought of losing him over this terrified her.

“It’s a time where everything is equal. If a man abuses a women, emotional, physically or sexually, he _will_ go to prison. It doesn’t matter whether she’s his wife, his daughter, his sister or a complete stranger. And the same applies to women who abuse men. No…” she added quickly when he gaped at her in alarm. “I’m not saying that you’ve abused me, because you really, really haven’t. I’m just trying to find a way to explain it to you.”

“I ken that. But while it maybe the case where ye’r from, ye no in that time anymore, ye in _this_ time.” He told her gently, although she could still hear a tinge of exasperation in his voice.”I apologised for forcing myself on ye an’ I meant it. I respect ye, and I love ye too much to ever hurt ye like that. I ken what we have is special, an’ I dinna want ye to ever fear me comin’ to ye bed.

“Ye ken well that I couldna bear it.

“But make no mistake, lass. Had I been of a mind, I’d have been completely within my rights to _fuck ye six ways till Sunday_ , right there on the floor.”

Her traitorous hormones had her lower belly flip-flopping like crazy, as he fired her words back at her in his deep husky voice. She was livid with herself, and with him. He wasn’t making an effort to even try to understand, and while she was almost wracking her brains to come up with an analogy he could relate to, her body was betraying her.

All she could suddenly think about, was him throwing her down and taking her on the grass. How in the hell could she expect him to understand, when she didn’t understand herself.

She was so fucking confused.

Screaming silently in her mind, she threw her hands up in frustration and stormed away from the bench.

“See! This is what I mean about a caveat.” She growled as she turned back towards him and poked him in the chest. “You’re making me crazy! The way you completely took control of my body, the way you spoke of me belonging to you, and would have taken me there and then, the way you say things like _that_ …God, Jamie, it turns me on and pisses me off! I wanted you to do it… I still do, and I can’t stop thinking about it!”

“I’m makin’ _you_ crazy?” He huffed, as he grabbed her hand off his chest and pushed to his feet. “I canna win! Ye say ye dinna belong to me, that I canna control ye, but yet ye enjoy it when I make ye feel like ye do? Ye canna have it both ways, Claire. Ye either mine or ye no.”

“I am yours, I do belong to you. But you don’t _own_ me. There’s a difference!”

“If there is, I canna see it.”

“Do _you_ belong to me, Jamie? Are you mine?” She asked, as she crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at him. His brows were furrowed, his lips pursed, and he was holding onto his anger by a thread.

“Of course I’m yers.”

“And do I _own_ you? Do I have control over what you can and cannot do with your body? Can I take a strap to your arse if you do something to piss me off? Can I order you about and force you to have sex with me any time I want?”

“Aye.” He smirked suddenly as his eyes dropped to her heaving breast. “Any time ye like, Sassenach.”

“I’m being serious!”

“As am I.”

“Jamie!” She growled, stamping her foot like a child.

“Fine, no, ye dinna own me, an’ I take ye meaning.” He nodded decisively as he reached towards her and unfolded her arms. “But that dinna change the facts. Whether ye like it or no, I _do_ own ye.”

“On paper, maybe. But not in day to day life. Here, now, we need to find a compromise, because I’m not a slave and I won’t be treated like property.” She huffed, attempting to free her arms from his grasp.

“Other then today, when have I _ever_ treated ye like ye are?”

“You haven’t, but as we’ve only been married a day, that doesn’t give you a very good track record.”

“So ye want a compromise? Fine.” He growled, dragging her to him by her hands. She fell against his solid body, and he trapped her swiftly in his hold. “I’ll no attempt to tell ye what ye can and canna do. Yer a bright lass, an’ unless ye prove otherwise, I’ll trust ye no to do anythin’ stupid or dangerous.

“In return ye’ll no undermine my authority in public. They’ll be times that I have to give ye orders, and I’ll expect ye to comply without argument. I no have people thinking I let my wife run wild.”

“Okay.” She nodded, relieved that they were finally getting somewhere. “I can agree to that.” In a way, it was something she’d already promised him off her own back. That first night when she’d sworn to behave as she should so as not to embarrass him.

“I also promise to _never_ force ye to accept my attentions. Ye’ll always have a right to tell me no, without justification. But ye have to swear to me that ye will. I dinna want to ever find that I took ye when ye didna want it.”

“I promise.” She whispered, as she raised her hands to lock them around his neck. “I would never do that to either of us.

“Good. But as _yer_ part of the compromise, ye need to accept that if ye _ever_ break ye promises. If ye ever put yerself in danger, or do anything stupid or reckless, I _will_ discipline ye and ye’ll accept it.”

“Umm, no!” She huffed, attempting to pull away from him, but he tightened his hold and kept her in place.

“Yes.”

“I will never let you hit me with your belt!”

“Then I suggest ye behave and I willna have to.”

“I’m not joking, Jamie.” She cried indignantly. “Corporal punishment is illegal!”

“Maybe where yer from, but it isna here. So, watch yerself, Sassenach.” He laughed as he pulled his hand back and slapped her smartly on the arse.

Though the layers of her dress and petticoats she really didn’t feel it, but she still gaped up at him, eyes wide and completely shocked.

“Did you _really_ just slap my arse?” She fumed indignantly as she pulled out of his arms and step away.

_The cheeky bastard will pay for that._

“Aye. An’ we’ve no time for ye to chastise me for it, the dressmaker will be here soon.”

_Dressmaker?_

_What dressmaker?_

“Fine!” She huffed, glowering up at him as she struggled to keep her laughter in check. “But in future, please try to wait until I’m naked. That type of behaviour should be reserved for the bedroom, My Lord.” His jaw dropped and she winked at him, as she turned and rushed off towards the house.

The issue with the belt still hung between them, but aside from that she was satisfied. They’d found a compromise, and if she was honest, it weighed heavily in her favour.

But until they could resolve their differences with the discipline, she’d just have to make sure not to do anything stupid.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so this one comes with a warning…DO NOT READ IN PUBLIC!

“Maggie, leave us.” Jamie ordered sharply, scaring the shit out of Claire with his sudden appearance. She hadn’t even heard him enter the room, but as she released the bedpost and turned toward his voice, she found him stood motionless by the door to her dressing room.

_Jesus Christ._

His hair was soaking wet, and his bronzed skin glistening in the sunlight, where small rivers of water ran slowly down the solid planes of his naked chest. They stopped abruptly just below his waist, and were absorbed by the small towel that hung dangerously from his hips.

With her heart suddenly stuck in her throat, she dragged her eyes from his body to studied his face, trying desperately to decipher his mood. But it was impossible. His mask, the one she hadn’t seen since that night at Leoch, was well and truly in place. It was clear that something was wrong, she could see the dark storm brewing in his eyes, but what that something was, she had no idea.

_Shit!_

_What have I done?_

He was up and out early this morning, to put Donas out to stud, and had promised to leave her asleep. But he’d apparently been unable to resist kissing her before he left, and she’d woken with the light pressure of his lips pressed to hers.

He’d seemed fine then, as he’d gently brushed her hair from her face, and whispered for her to go back to sleep.

So what the hell had happened?

“Now, lass!” He barked, making both women jump.

“It’s alright, Maggie, you can go, I’ll call for you when I’m ready to continue dressing.” She reassured her softly, never once taking her eyes off the raging bull. He was glaring daggers at the poor girl and Claire had to bite her tongue so that she didn’t snap back.

Even if she _had_ done something to upset him, there was no need for him to take it out on Maggie. But of course, she couldn’t tell him that. Not yet, anyway. She’d promised him she wouldn’t argue back in company.

But as soon as they were alone…

“Aye, I’ll be back when ye need me, Milady.” Claire took her eyes from Jamie’s for one second, to gently squeezed Maggie’s hand, and attempted fruitless to ignore his dark impatient growl.

“Thank you.” She smiled as the girl dropped a quick curtesy, grabbed her sewing basket, and rushed from the room. She waited until the door had shut firmly behind her, and her rushing footsteps had all but disappeared, before she turned on her husband.

“What the hell?” She frowned whirling around to face him. But he wasn’t were she’d expected, he’d already moved, and she spun in a circle until she found him bolting the door behind her maid. “What are doing?”

“Is it done?”

“Is what done?” She huffed planting her hands firmly on her hips. “Jamie, what’s gotten into you?”

“Yer monthlies. I found ye wee sponges in ye dressin’ room.”

“Jamie!” She gasped, appalled as she rushed forward and snatched the two small, and thankfully clean, sponges out of his hand. “That’s…eww! Please never do that again.”

“Ye didna mind when it were my cock, Lass! As I recall ye went so far as to put it in ye mouth…”

“That’s different!”

“Ney, t’is no…now tell me!” He growled, as he stepped towards her and grabbed her hips, “is it done?” He pulled her body flush with his, and she couldn’t fight a smirk as she felt his engorged cock twitch against her stomach.

“That’s what this is about?” She teased, as she dropped the sponges and placed her hands flat on his chest. “You barge in here, from God knows where, and decide to traumatize poor Maggie, all because of a little cock-stand? Could you not have dealt with that yourself?”

“Claire!”

“I have to come with you next time. I never realised that watching horses mate was such an aphrodisiac…” she murmured, shifting her hips as she slowly dragged her nails though his chest hair.

“Dinna tease a desperate man, Sassenach.”

“You’ve ruined that poor girl for life now, you know. If seeing you half naked wasn’t enough, God help her if she caught a glimpse of this.” She breathed as her hand dropped between them, and cupped his ridged length firmly in her grasp. “No other man stands a chance…I may have to fire her if she gets any ideas.”

“Tell me, Claire before I take ye regardless.” He threatened, the storm in his dark eyes sending a tidal wave of desire rushing through her.

“Yes, it’s done.”

“Thank Christ!” He groaned as he scooped her up into his arms and strode quickly towards the bed. Without ceremony, he all but threw her down amongst the sheets and swiftly tore his towel from his hips.

Her eyes naturally fell to his cock, and she shivered at the sight.

God help her.

He was so hard, so ready, that the head was almost purple and a small bead of come glisten invitingly at the tip. She felt him gathering her shift up around her hips, and her eyes shot back up to his, but it wasn’t her face he was looking at.

Grabbing the back of her knees, he bent her legs and roughly drew them apart, displaying her naked sex to his hungry eyes.

“I need ye.”

Lightening struck her core, tightening her inner muscles, and bringing with it a flood of arousal. Her period had been awful, so they hadn’t made love since that first night, and she was as desperate for him as he was for her.

His rough man handling was only fueling that desire.

“Then take me.” She whispered, suddenly unable to catch her breathe. His eyes were locked on her sex, and she trembled as he licked his lips and drew his calloused hands down along the inside of her thighs. She’d never been so exposed to anyone, and while she should be embarrassed, the way he looked at her made her feel like a goddess.

He dropped to his knees at the side of the bed, repositioned his hands, and dragged her down to within inches of his face. Her heart took off and her fingers clenched around the sheets in anticipation. Jesus Christ, he’d not even really touched her yet and she was ready to explode.

If he was about to do what she thought he was about to do, she might just die. He licked his lips again and she whimpered as his shifted his eyes to hers. They were ravenous, he wanted this desperately, but she could see just a hint of uncertainty. This would be another first for both of them, but while she was the one with the least experience, she was also the one with the most knowledge.

“It’s just the same as when you touch me…just use your tongue as well as your fingers.” She encouraged gently as she stretched down to touch his face. “As though you’re kissing me.”

He moved closer, and she shuddered as he buried his nose against her sex and took a deep breath.

“Lord God, ye scent.” He breathed in awe, before parting her lips and taking one long swipe with his tongue, from her opening to her clitoris. She cried out at the sensation, and her hips shot up of the bed, searching for more.

Jamie groaned deep in the back of his throat, and tightened his hold on her, pushing her back down and forcing her legs further apart.

“Ye taste like honey.”

“Jamie, please!”

He shushed her, and the near silent sound blew a stream of cool air across her heated flesh. She shivered, and then mewled quietly, as his warm wet tongue flicked against her.

“Oh, God yes!”

Unrelentingly he circled her exposed clitoris with the tip of his tongue, around and around, fast then slow, over and over, nearly driving her insane. Before he lapped at the length of her again and drew it into his mouth, sucking forcefully and flicking her with his magical tongue.

She felt one long finger probe her entrance and, as he thrust it deep inside her, she cried out and buried her fingers in his hair. Jesus fucking Christ! She was holding him in place as she rolled her hips, riding his finger and his face as he pushed her closer and closer to the edge.

For a man that had never done this before, he was an expert at it, and she thanked every God she could think of as he thrust and licked, sucked and bit.

“Jamie, Jamie…shit…Ah!” Her back arched as he switched around, pushing his long tongue deep inside her, and circling her clit with his thumb. He wasn’t holding her down anymore, the weight of his hand was gone, and as she looked down in a daze she realised why. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna come.”

She couldn’t see his hand, it was hidden by the bed, but she could see his arm moving and she knew exactly what he was doing. It was so fucking hot that she lost her tenuous hold on reality, and came with a low, keening cry of his name.

“Aah..stop stop stop…Jamie.” She pleaded weakly as her limp body fell back against the mattress. She was too sensitive and she jerked violently with every new brush of his tongue.

“If I dinna take ye now, lass…” He panted as he pushed to his feet and loomed over her. She looked magnificent, spread wide on the bed before him, with her honeypot swollen and glistening from his attentions . “I canna…I need ye naked.”

Shakily, she rolled onto her stomach and pushed herself up so that she was kneeling on the bed before him. In his haste to get to her, he’d interrupted her dressing, so the laces of her stays were only half threaded. Working quickly, he tugged them all free, threw the stays on the floor, and pulled her shift up over her head.

In stark contrast to her smooth ivory skin, her long, dark hair fell in waves down to the curve of her plump arse. There was just something about the image that had his painfully hard cock twitching against his stomach. She was a vision, and if he didn’t take he soon, he might just die.

He dropped his hands to her hips, intending to turn her over, but she fell forward onto her elbows, and turned to look at him over her shoulder.

“Like this.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Her arse and honeypot were pushed up, level with his cock, and he could see her sweet, sweet nectar slowly gathering at her opening.

“Ye sure?” He begged, as he hands flexed at her hips, pulling her closer. He’d known it was possible to take a woman this way, he’d seen a man take a whore like this in Paris, but he’d never dreamed of doing it, not with Claire.

But God forgive him he wanted it.

“Please. Just go slow.”

_Slow?_

Shit, he was so desperate for her he wasn’t sure if he _could_ go slow. But he nodded, and gritting his teeth, he fisted his cock and slowly eased the head into her warm, dripping wet pussy.

“Christ, Claire.” He growled, as he moved his hand back to her hip and gripped her firmly. “Ye so tight, lass. Spread ye legs.”

Her head had fallen down to the bed, and she was tense and clutching at the sheets, but she complied, widening her stance and making room for him to push further in.

His hips pulled back, and he watched with increasing need, as his wet cock slipped out, and then disappeared a little deeper inside her. He’d never seen anything so erotic in his life, and the sight alone had his bollocks tightening alarmingly.

She was so hot, so swollen and wet and soft that he never wanted to leave her body. He wanted to go as slowly as she’d asked him to. He wanted to prolong his own torture, hold on to the anticipation and the sheer pleasure of being buried inside his wife.

But he needed to take her hard. To pound into her, to hear her crying his name as he _fucked_ her over and over, until they were both consumed by the power of his lust.

He drew back, then pushed in deeper. Back and forward, again and again, trusting and rolling his hips, forcing his way in slowly until he was buried to the hilt. Claire whimpered with every thrust, but she was there with him, pushing back against him, encouraging him to move.

The head of his cock hit the end of her inner most depths, and he almost bit through his lip, as sharp jolts of pleasure ran up the length of his cock.

He slipped almost all the way out, rolled his hips and pushed in a little harder.

“Ah, shit.” She panted, as she pushed back against him, locking him in deep. “Again…oh God.” Her opening was stretched wide around his girth, and he watched it retract as he pulled almost all the way out, and stretch again and he thrust right back in. “Yes!”

“Lord God, Claire…I canna…”he groaned, as he pick up his pace, thrusting into her harder, faster until his hips were moving steadily against her arse. He folded his body down over hers, and reached under her to grip her shoulder and breast in his hands. “I need to feel ye.” He panted in her ear, “I need ye to… _come_ around my cock, Claire.” He begged as his fingers found her nipple, and he twisted it sharply, making her cry out and tighten around him.

“Jamie…please…harder!”

“That’s it.” He purred as he pulled and twisted, thrust and ground up against her. “Let me feel it, lass.” He stood, never breaking his stride, as he pulled her up with him, slamming his cock to the hilt, over and over again.

Her head fell back against his shoulder and he wrapped his arm across her chest, holding her in place as his hand found the place where they were joined.

“Yer so wet…so tight.”

She was pushing down against him, crying wordlessly with every deep, penetrating thrust, making it almost impossible for him to hold on. He could feel the heat building at the base of his spine, feel his bollocks pulling up tight and tingling with with his impending release, and was basking in the unbelievable pleasure that was shooting though his cock.

He was so desperate to feel her spasm and clench around him, but it was too much. He pounded into her again and again and again, and then thrusting in as far as he could, he let go and released his seed in long hot spurts deep inside his wife.

With a quiet cry of his name, Claire buckled in his arms, and clamped down tightly around his pulsing cock. Her pleasure, prolonged his own, and his hips jerked against her, as her muscles spasmed around him, and milked the last of his release from deep within him.

“Jesus, fuck.” He winced, as he slipped his sensitive cock from her depths and fell sideways onto the bed, with his laughing wife still in his arms. “What’s so funny?” He growled, as he tightened his arms and peered over her shoulder. Her wee, sweaty body was shaking against him, and he swiftly pinched her nipple in warning.

“Hey!” She chastised, grabbing his hand, “You said fuck…it sounded funny, that’s all.”

“Did it now?” He whispered darkly as he twisted her in his embrace. She looked up at him, all humour leaving her, as she reached up and touched his face.

“I love you so much.”

“As I love ye.” He whispered back as he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

It was the first time he’d kissed her since entering the room, and with their passion sated, it was a slow deep kiss full of nothing but love. Their tongues entwined languidly, and he threaded his fingers through her sweat soaked hair, holding her to him as he kissed her deeply.

Her leg came up to tangle with his, and she pulled herself closer, bringing their bodies flush together.

“What ye do to me.” He breathed, breaking the kiss and flopping back on the bed. He tucked her snuggly into his side, and she snuggled down against his chest.

“What I do to you? I believe it was you that accosted me!” She laughed. “What brought that on?”

“Ye werena far wrong about the horses.” He admitted, making her laugh out loud. “I’d left my bonny wee wife near naked in my bed, after no havin’ her for days, an’ all to go an’ let one damn beast after another roger a mare.”

Claire snorted and clamped her hand over her mouth. He looked so indignant, so put out that his horses were getting some and he wasn’t, that she just couldn’t hold it in.

“So you were jealous of your horse.”

“Aye.” He nodded, unashamed. “I kent that Maggie was in with ye, so I came up the servants stairs an’ thought I’d use ye water while it was still hot. But as I rinsed off I saw ye wee sponges…”

“And you thought you take your chances, and damn the maid.”

“Aye.”

“Well I’m glad you did. But poor, Maggie..” she sighed, drawing random patterns on his chest with her nails. “Maybe we should pay her extra.”

“She’s ye maid, Sassenach. She gets paid well enough, and she’ll have to get used to seein’ thing she’s no used to seein’. I’m sure she’ll see worse before too long.”

“Probably.” She laughed, as she pushed up on her elbow and looked down at him. “I should ring for her soon.”

“Why?”

“So I can dress. Your father will be here in a few days and I need to get the wedding plans finalised.”

Yes, they were already married, but after speaking with father MacBride, and almost begging his forgiveness, Jamie had suggested having a big wedding.

He wanted the full shebang.

With a church and a dress, guests, dinner and dancing afterwards. He’d already sent word out via Willie and his mother, and she been catching herself coming backwards attempting to arrange everything.

All while avoiding Jenny who had refused to stay in her room.

“Ye’v done enough.” He growled, pulling her down to lie across his chest. “Ye mine today, lass. Ye done with yer courses, and I’m done with my shots. So, I dinna intend to let ye leave this bed till I’m through with ye.”

She felt his cock twitch against her leg, and her eyes widened as she stared down at him in shock.

“Again?”

“Aye…an’ again an’ again an’ again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer.
> 
> I do not own the outlander series or the characters involved (other than originals). All rights to the original series belong to DG.


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